


Knowing Me, Knowing You

by matt4ffx



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, BAMF!Stiles, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M, Mates, Post Season 2, Romance, Werewolf!Stiles, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:56:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 124,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matt4ffx/pseuds/matt4ffx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Erica and Boyd mysteriously disappear, Derek recruits Scott, Isaac, and Stiles to assist in a rescue mission that reveals new enemies, new alliances, and new relationships that will change Derek and his pack forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Missing

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place after the conclusion of Season 2. I have a lot of ideas for this storyline, its characters, and its relationships. There will of course be Sterek feels! Enjoy and thanks for reading!!

Stiles awoke to the bright rays of the midday sun shining through his open window. He could feel the gentle tingle of the warm breeze and hear the sounds of chirping birds and lawn mowers. Summer had arrived. A quick glance to his bedside alarm clock told him it was almost noon and the gurgling in his belly meant it was time to eat.

Casting his blanket aside, he hopped out of his bed and exited his room, taking the creaky wooden stairs two at a time before arriving at the kitchen. A post-it had been left for him on the fridge. 

_I’ll be home at 6. Love, Dad._

_Perfect,_ Stiles thought to himself. No school. No work to do. Just a lazy summer day to do whatever he wanted. He tossed a couple handfuls of pizza rolls from the large bag in the freezer onto a plate and shoved it into the microwave. The ninety seconds trickled by at a snail’s pace, each second passing by slower than the last. What was it about microwave timers that transcended the laws of normal time? 

When the timer finally beeped, he scrambled to get the plate out, satisfied that only a few of the rolls had spewed their cheesy guts out of their breaded wrappings. With a few steps into the living room, he collapsed onto the couch, flicked on the TV, and dove into his lunch, only slightly scalding the roof of his mouth and tongue as the cheesy rolls exploded beneath his crushing teeth. 

Stiles had to admit life was pretty good right now. The whole kanima situation was thankfully resolved. Jackson was no longer a scary lizard beast terrorizing the townsfolk and dead bodies weren’t turning up all over the place. According to Scott, Jackson was still having trouble controlling his new werewolf powers, wolfing out at even the slightest sense of anger or irritation, but that was hardly Stiles’ problem. And Gerard had gotten away, which was a little disconcerting but the guy was about to croak and his beef wasn’t really with Stiles so he had little to fear in that department as well. 

The school year had ended without consequence. Despite all the chaos that had plagued the last couple of months, Stiles had managed to keep his grades in check and after finals had ended, he was pleased to have finished with all As and one B (in Mr. Harris’s class, of course). 

His dad was Sheriff again too, which had greatly brightened up the spirits of both Stiles and his father. There was still some guilt there. Stiles had been the reason that his father was demoted in the first place but now that his dad was back to being the big, bad sheriff in town, things felt right again. 

His jeep, which he had charged head-on into an abandoned building on the night “shit went down” as he often thought of it, had sustained minimal damage and with a good cleaning, was basically good as new. 

The only real problem left to deal with was Scott. He had been in a total funk, for lack of a better word, ever since that night. Allison had dumped him. Maybe it was more complicated than that and maybe Scott still believed that he and Allison were destined to be together but from Stiles’ point of view, he could recognize a dumping when he saw one. The whole situation had left Scott alternating between periods of depression and anguish to ones of hopefulness and a passion to win her back. It meant Stiles never knew what he was going to get whenever he ventured over to his best friend’s house, a weepy sad-sack or a delusional ball of energy. It irked Stiles that he didn’t know how to help his friend through this. After all, Stiles had always been the one to be there for Scott, helping him through his problems and facing the world head-on. 

No one had seen Allison or her father since that night. She didn’t turn up for the last two weeks of school and Scott’s numerous calls and texts to her phone had gone unanswered. Stiles had sent a couple of texts himself to see if she was alright but there was no response. Even Lydia, her best friend, hadn’t heard a word from her. 

_Lydia._ Stiles had been trying not to think of her ever since that night but he’d be lying if he said he’d been successful. Even now, he couldn’t stop the images of that night from flashing before him. The night when Lydia saved Jackson by proclaiming her undying love for him and holding up that rusty, old key to make Jackson break free of the kanima’s “spell” or whatever. It was a little too cliché if you asked Stiles. Too much “love conquers all” and “love saves the day” for his liking. Whatever happened to “nerdy guy gets the girl of his dreams” or “beautiful girl realizes the love of her life has been there all along but she just never noticed him?” Now those were some clichés Stiles could get onboard with. His heart ached at the thought of Lydia with Jackson and the growing realization that maybe Stiles and Lydia weren’t going to end up together. But there could still be hope, right? There was always hope. 

But now was not the time to think about that. Stiles still had half a plate of cheesy, delicious pizza rolls on his lap and an old episode of _The Office_ on TV. He was content, happy even. And while popping another roll into his mouth, Stiles decided that he would visit Scott today because bipolar personality aside, he was still Scott’s best friend and his friend could use some cheering up. 

**

“Hello Stiles,” Scott said before Stiles had even finished slipping his first leg through Scott’s open window. 

“You know, there was a time when I could sneak in here like a ninja in the night and scare the living shit out of you,” Stiles responded as he contorted the rest of his body to pass through the window. He had been hoping to sneak in and catch Scott off-guard but he should know by now that sneaking up on a werewolf is easier said than done. Maybe even impossible. 

“Now who’s the scary one?” Scott said, his eyes flashing gold and his smile widening to show the jagged edges of his fangs as he let just a touch of his wolf come to life. 

They both laughed. It felt good to laugh with Scott again. It was like old times. 

“Grab your gear,” Stiles said as Scott’s face returned to normal. “Now that I’ve made first line, I’ve got to practice hard all summer. I don’t wanna lose my spot.” 

“Yea, okay,” Scott replied, hopping out of his desk chair and grabbing his lacrosse bag from his closet. Stiles was surprised he didn’t have to talk Scott into it. He half-expected to find Scott wallowing in pity and Stiles would have to drag his sorry ass out of bed, refusing to shut up until Scott did what he wanted. No, this was better, though. Maybe this meant Scott was actually moving on. Maybe this meant Stiles could have his best friend back. Yea, Stiles liked that thought. 

They took Stiles’ jeep out to a field near the local park. After setting up a practice net, they were ready to play. 

“No wolf powers,” Stiles said, knowing that without implicit instruction, Scott would probably end up hurtling a lacrosse ball at 200 mph straight for Stiles’ head. It had happened before and was likely to happen again. Maybe today Scott would actually listen. 

“Scout’s honor,” Scott answered as he took his place in front of the net. Stiles didn’t need to be a werewolf to tell when his best friend was lying. His face said it all. 

Stiles took his place a few yards away with his stick and ball. With a few steps forward, he arched his arm forward, flicked his wrist, and launched the ball at the upper right corner of the net. He barely had time to hit the ground before the ball came flying back towards him, whizzing through the air at super-speed, its trajectory following a path where Stiles’ head had been mere milliseconds prior. 

“DON’T MAKE ME GET THE WOLFSBANE!” Stiles yelled in his best sounding angry voice, which all in all, didn’t sound that intimidating. 

Scott just laughed. 

** 

Derek paced back and forth in the dusty, decrepit room of what had once been the living room of the Hale house. The floorboards creaked angrily with each step, threatening to collapse beneath his feet. But Derek wasn’t paying attention to that. His mind was elsewhere. 

The last few weeks had been hell. 

Sure, the kanima was gone but now he had Jackson, a new pup werewolf that he had to train. And the training wasn’t going well. The boy was wolfing out at the slightest touch of anger or irritation. A bump in the hallway or just looking at him the wrong way was enough for his eyes to flash crystal blue and his teeth and claws to shift. And for a species that thrived on being able to keep its existence secret from the general human population, wolfing out in English class, and lacrosse practice, and at the freaking grocery store wasn’t doing anyone any good. 

It hadn’t been like this when any of the others had been turned. Sure, there had been a learning curve but the others had all taken to keeping up human appearances when out in public. But the others weren’t Jackson, a spoiled brat who had gotten everything he’d ever wanted and never once in his life had to control his emotions. He had been greedy as a human. If he wanted something, he took it. And his wolf was the same way. When it wanted to come out, it did. And it wanted to come out a lot. 

There had been a lot of close calls those last few weeks of class. He had to assign Erica, Isaac, and Boyd to “Jackson Watch 2012,” basically making sure at least one of them was with the boy at all times to insure he didn’t wolf out (or more realistically, making sure no one noticed when he did wolf out). It put a lot of strain on his pack. A lot of strain on an already strained pack. He was surprised Erica and Boyd had even gone along with it, considering they had made their disdain for Derek’s leadership skills pretty clear before they had been captured by the Argents. Their attitudes since then hadn’t improved much. 

Then, of course there was Gerard. The man had somehow managed to get away despite him and Peter scouring the area that night trying to pick up the trail of the man’s scent away from the warehouse. The man was still a threat, even if he was dying. And surely he would want revenge against Derek and Scott. But right now there were no leads on the old man’s whereabouts. 

But Gerard wasn’t the only possible threat that loomed in Derek’s mind. There was also his uncle, Peter Hale. The man was still an enigma to Derek. He couldn’t tell if Peter was actually on his side since returning from the grave or if this was all a ruse to win Derek’s trust and backstab him as soon as Derek let his guard down. The man had always been cunning, after all. But Derek wanted to trust Peter. The man was family and when he spoke, it was with the same voice, the same smooth, caring tone that Derek remembered from his childhood. And he was the only real family Derek had left. 

But even with all that weighing on him, those were not the reasons why Derek was at this moment in time pacing back and forth, mind racing, hands fidgeting. As the words of what to say jumbled in his head, Derek finally mustered up the courage to pull his cell phone from his pocket. This wasn’t a call he wanted to make. This wasn’t a call an Alpha should have to make. But this was a call he had to make. 

Two rings before the familiar voice came through the speaker. 

“Hello?” she asked. 

“Melinda. It’s me, Derek.” 

** 

Stiles was pretty sure the afternoon could not have been more fun. He got to hang out with his best friend all day playing lacrosse and then some video games and the conversation hadn’t drifted to Allison and the way she stomped on Scott’s heart once. 

After dropping Scott off back at his house, Stiles made his way back home. Pulling into the driveway, he parked alongside his dad’s car. The clock read only twelve past six so his dad couldn’t have been home long. Hopping out of the jeep, he made his way inside. His dad was in the kitchen, still in uniform. 

“Hey son. How was your first day of summer?” 

“Pretty great, actually. Hung out with Scott, played some lacrosse,” Stiles answered. “But man am I starving!” As if on cue, Stiles’ stomach rumbled loudly. 

“Haha, okay,” his dad chuckled. “What do you want to do for dinner? Pizza?” 

“Sure! Let’s get Papa Rosetti’s,” Stiles replied, ignoring the fact that his dad had high cholesterol and would probably be better served not engorging himself on doughy, cheesy foodstuffs. One meal wasn’t gonna kill the man, though, right? Stiles also chose to ignore the fact that this would mean both his meals today were pizza in one form or another. But hey, he was a growing boy. Growing boys could get away with things like that. 

“Okay. I’ll order it.” 

After filling his belly with his favorite pizza and spending a couple hours watching a _COPS_ marathon with his dad, Stiles made his way upstairs to his bedroom. He changed into his pajamas and hopped into bed before pulling out his phone and typing a text to his best friend. 

_Hang tomorrow?_

A minute passed and Scott replied. 

_For sure._

_Goodnight, little wolf._

_Goodnight, Robin._

** 

Derek could hear the rumble of the engine as the car approached the Hale house. He could smell the two wolves as they tentatively approached the front door, their scents becoming stronger as they entered. As they appeared in the doorway, he didn’t need to see their faces to know they were angry and irritated. They reeked of it. They probably didn’t like being summoned in the middle of the night without a reason. But Derek was the Alpha. They would come when he called. 

“What do you want?” Erica’s voice was practically dripping with disdain. 

“Yea, what gives?” Boyd chimed in. 

The anger inside Derek boiled at their insubordination. How dare they talk to their Alpha with such a tone? But as quickly as the wolf inside him rose, Derek pushed it back down. He needed to be in control. Control was the mark of a true Alpha. 

“Your…. discontent… has not gone unnoticed,” Derek said, choosing his words carefully. Neither of them objected. Derek crossed him arms and looked them both in the eyes as he spoke. He was nothing if not intimidating. 

“You don’t respect me as a leader. You think this is more than you signed up for. You’re having second thoughts about being a part of _my_ pack.” Derek continued, placing particular emphasis on the word _my_. “Your reasons for feeling this way are your own and you’re entitled to them. I told myself from the beginning I would not force this life on anyone unwilling and I stand by that oath.” 

The two wolves stared silently, their faces confirming Derek’s words. 

“So what am I to do with two disgruntled wolves? I can’t just set you free to live on your own as Omegas. That would be irresponsible and dangerous. And I can’t exactly take the bite back, now can I?” 

Again, silence, although now the two teenagers looked quizzical. Derek continued, his expression remaining stern and focused. 

“I have been in contact with a friend of mine in New York. Her name is Melinda. She has a large pack out there. Some of my distant cousins are in her pack. I stayed with them for a time after leaving Beacon Hills. I have made arrangements for you two to stay there with them for the summer. Melinda is kind. Strict, but kind. Her pack is a family and it feels like one. I think it would be good for you to see what it truly means to be part of a pack, what it truly means to be a wolf.” 

“And….if we refuse?” Erica asked, her voice having lost the boldness it held moments before. 

“Should you refuse, you submit to my authority unconditionally. Insubordination will not be tolerated. Your poor attitudes, your constant irritation, your anger, your back-talk, all of it disappears. Should you accept, you be here tomorrow at dusk, ready to leave. Make up any lie you want for your families. At the end of the summer, we can discuss more permanent arrangements.” 

Silence clung to the end of Derek’s words. He eyed the two wolves sternly, holding his ground. They didn’t know that what Derek was doing was unheard of. They didn’t know that a wolf did not simply jump from pack to pack until they found the one they liked best. They didn’t know that asking Melinda to agree to this was humiliating and lessened his image as an Alpha. But Melinda owed Derek a favor and she accepted. And Derek would do this for his pack, because pack was family to Derek. It always had been. Even an infuriating pack with pups that disobeyed and defied their leader. 

“Dismissed.” 

** 

“Dude! Wake up!” 

Stiles opened his eyes to see his best friend hovering over his bed, still shaking his shoulder. It was dark outside, the moon shimmering in the night sky. His clock read just past 2 in the morning. 

“What? What?” Stiles protested, shoving Scott’s hand off. “Geez. What are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?!” 

“Dude! I think something’s up. I just got a text from Derek saying to meet him at the old Hale house.” Scott’s voice was hushed but Stiles could feel the urgency in it. 

It was unusual for Derek to be texting this late. It was actually unusual for him to be texting Scott at all. Neither Stiles nor Scott had really spoken to the guy since school ended. Not that he really cared. Sure, they had worked with the guy to take down Peter and again to take down Gerard and the kanima, but those were alliances out of necessity, not loyalty. And Scott had never really been a part of Derek’s pack. Not like Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. And now Jackson. Something really must be wrong for the guy to be calling on Scott for help. Well, that was assuming the guy actually needed help. Which, let’s face it, he probably did. The guy always seemed to need help. 

“Dude! Are you listening to me?!” Scott’s voice jolted Stiles back to reality. 

“Yea, yea, yea,” Stiles answered. “Derek texted you. Did he say what about?” 

“No, he didn’t. But it’s safe to say, if the guy is calling on us, shit’s going down.” 

“You’re right. Let’s go.” 

** 

The Hale house looked creepy during the day but it looked down right terrifying at night. The broken windows, missing boards on the porch, walls, and floors, plus the whole “half-burnt” look it had going on made Stiles think it would make a really good location for a haunted house movie. But he probably shouldn’t say that out loud. At least, not in front of Derek. 

Stiles turned off the ignition in his jeep. As the car lights went out, a shiver coursed through his body. Not a shiver of fear of course. June evenings in California could be notoriously chilly. 

He followed Scott toward the old house, no other person in sight. 

“Is he even here?” Stiles asked, looking around. 

“Yea, inside. I can smell him,” Scott answered. “And hear his heartbeat.” At least having a werewolf best friend came with perks. 

As they opened the creaky, old front door, they entered the house’s old living room and there stood Derek. He was scowling per usual. Did he have any other expressions? The room was lit by a flickering candle on the mantle of what was once probably an ornate brick fireplace. Now it was a crumbled mess and the mantle was lopsided. 

Stiles practically jumped out of skin as something moved directly to his left. Isaac stood up from the small wooden chair where he had been sitting just to the side of the doorway. The teen smirked at Stiles, realizing he’d caused him to have a momentary panic. Not fair. You’d think Scott could have given him some warning outside. Just a little “Hey FYI, Isaac is here too” would have sufficed. But no, why would anyone do that? Did these people not realize that not everyone has freaky werewolf powers? 

“I said to come alone,” Derek said, breaking the silence. His glare was on Scott and seriously, the guy must just stand in front of mirrors practicing his glare-face because he has got that thing down. 

“You should know by now that Stiles and I are a package deal,” Scott replied flatly. It felt good hearing Scott stand up for him like that. Scott was a good best friend, especially when Allison wasn’t around. Stiles piped up, “Plus, it’s not like I haven’t saved your life on multiple occasions. Oh wait… yea, I have!” Derek’s glare now turned to rest on Stiles. Stiles just stared right back, smiling widely. As long as he edged the line of sarcasm and humor carefully, he probably wouldn’t end up being shoved into anything. _Probably_ being the operative word. 

“So what’s up? Why are we here, Derek?” Isaac chimed in. Stiles guessed he could sense Derek’s anger building and wanted to diffuse it. 

Derek sighed and spoke. 

“Four days ago, I sent Erica and Boyd on a trip to stay with a pack in New York. I felt they could use some time away from here and that staying with this pack would be good for them. The trip should have taken them no more than 3 days by car. I received word today that they still had not arrived. And neither of them is answering their cell phones.” 

“That doesn’t sound good,” Stiles responded. Derek shot him an angry scowl. Well, maybe he was kinda stating the obvious. 

A moment of tense silence passed. “Maybe they just ran away,” Isaac said. “You know, they haven’t been too happy with you lately.” 

Stiles thought he saw Derek grimace at Isaac’s words, like it hurt to hear them. He didn’t know there had been so much conflict amongst the wolves in the pack. But then again, nothing about Derek’s pack had screamed “homey, loving bunch of cuddle-buddies” so Stiles wasn’t really surprised to learn that there was dissension among the ranks. 

“A possibility…” Derek replied, the tone in his voice still harsh. “…But unlikely. I don’t think they would abandon their families with no contact at all. Erica is close with her mom, Boyd with his brother. Neither of them have heard anything from Boyd and Erica in the last four days. And if they had just run away, they could have answered my calls or texts, or the calls of their loved ones, if nothing else than just to say they had run away. But they haven’t.” 

“So you suspect foul play. You think something happened to them en route?” Stiles asked. 

“It seems the most likely possibility,” Derek answered. “And although I can’t confirm it, it is worth investigating.” 

“Well how can we find them?” Scott asked. “I mean, I know your Alpha nose is a lot better than ours but I doubt even you could track their scents halfway across the country when the trail is already four days old.” 

Scott had a point but it was irrelevant. Stiles already had a plan forming in his head. That’s why these werewolves were lucky they had a smart guy like Stiles around to do the heavy brain-lifting. 

“That’s why I called you guys out here. I need your help in brainstorming a way to-…” Derek began to reply. 

“Their phones! Duh!” Stiles interrupted, his voice almost giddy with excitement. He should probably be reveling in the fact that Derek was actually asking other people for help because Stiles knew that must just be eating the guy up inside but his mind was already running down a different path. 

“Well, I thought of _that_ …” Derek replied coldly, clearly resisting the urge to throw Stiles into something. “…of using your friend Danny to track their texts like we did that one time before. But neither of them are texting so it’s of little use to us now, isn’t it?” 

“Well, of course _that_ won’t work! I wasn’t talking about that,” Stiles countered. No, Stiles’ plan was better than that. “When you called, did it ring or go straight to voicemail?” 

“Erica’s phone rang,” Derek replied. “Why? You think you can track it or something?!” 

“Of course, I can! There’s just one thing, though.” 

“What?” Derek asked. 

“The software to trace cell phones isn’t exactly something you can pick up at Walmart….” Stiles said. “And I don’t exactly have Danny’s skills for hacking, either. But luckily, I do know where we can find what we need.” Stiles smiled impishly, the thrill of mischief written all over his face. 

** 

Derek couldn’t believe he was putting all his faith in the hands of an erratic boy like Stiles. But then again, what choice did he have? Stiles’ plan to break into the police station did sound good on paper, assuming of course they didn’t get caught and wind up in a jail cell with felony charges. But would it work? It _had_ to work. Somehow. 

“Okay, one more time,” Stiles was saying as the four of them sat in Derek’s car in the parking lot of the office building next to the police station. “I’ll type in the code to the back door of the station. Isaac, you’ll stand guard outside the door. If anyone comes in or out, you’ll alert Scott basically by just talking and he’ll use his wolfy hearing to pick up whatever you say.” 

“Got it,” Isaac replied. 

“Scott, you and I will sneak in and head to the Surveillance Room. It should be empty because it’s late at night and only a couple of cops will be on duty in the station. And chances are they won’t be dicking around in the Surveillance Room. We’ll go in and I’ll pull up the tracking software and dial Erica’s number to get her location. While I’m doing that, you’ll be on listening duty, using your wolfy senses to pick up if anyone is going to discover us. Got it?” 

“Got it,” Scott replied. 

“And Derek, you’ll be doing what you do best. Sitting in your Camaro twiddling your thumbs and looking pretty.” Stiles finished, smiling evilly. 

“This is ridiculous!” The anger inside Derek was boiling to the surface. “I’m not letting a bunch of teenagers sneak into a police station while I just sit in the car waiting to give them a quick getaway!” 

There was no way this was going to work! He should be the one finding his missing wolves. He should be the one putting his safety on the line. The Alpha should not be sitting on the sidelines while two Betas and their friend did all the work! 

“That’s the point!” Stiles yelled right back into Derek’s face, the boy’s stern copper-colored eyes focused on his own and refusing to back down. “We’re teenagers! You’re not! If we get caught, three seventeen year olds won’t be going to jail. If you get caught, it’s hello orange jumpsuits and meals on a tray!” 

Derek’s eyes flashed red and he growled angrily at the boy. Who did he think he was challenging the Alpha? Yelling in his face? His wolf was tingling under his skin but he pushed it back down reluctantly. He had to have control over his wolf, even if everything about this plan felt wrong. Even if the boy was stupid enough to yell in his face, an action his wolf regarded as a challenge and a threat. Derek had to go with Stiles’ plan because he had no plan of his own, no alternative. 

“Fine,” he muttered grumpily. 

“Good. Let’s go!” 

** 

_4374_

The door clicked open. Stiles always thought it was stupid that the door code was the same as the building’s address but right now he was happy no one had changed it. 

“Good luck,” Isaac whispered, taking his place to guard the exit. 

Stiles and Scott were in the building in a flash, the door gently clicking shut behind them. As quickly and quietly as they could, they scurried along the hallway, taking their first right, and entering the second room on the left. 

“I don’t hear anybody nearby. Do your stuff. Quick!” Scott whispered, his voice filled with anxiety. Stiles could only imagine how loud their two beating hearts must sound to Scott’s over-sensitive hearing. 

With a quick nod, Stiles approached the computer against the back wall. The room was dark, illuminated only by the screen savers of the three computers in the room. Sitting down at the desk, he typed in his dad’s login information. So much of this plan seemed to revolve around the fact that Stiles had a knack for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, namely his dad’s police work. 

Each second seemed like an hour but finally the program was up and running. 

“Anyone coming?” Stiles hissed. 

“Nope. But still hurry.” Scott replied. 

Stiles picked up the phone on the desk and referencing Erica’s number on his cell phone display, he typed the numbers into the phone. The phone began to ring and the computer screen display changed, a large red bar slowly filling up a long, gray box. The program was working. Stiles knew that to pinpoint the phone’s exact location, the phone would need to be answered and the person would need to be kept on the line for at least 30 seconds, sometimes longer. But he also knew that if Erica’s ringtone lasted longer than 15 seconds, it would be long enough for the software to at least pinpoint the cell tower her phone was using. And if he could figure out the cell tower, he could put Erica within a 20-30 mile radius. And that was a lot more information than they had now. And the pack’s wolfy noses could probably pick up Erica’s and Boyd’s scents somewhere within a 20 mile radius, right? Maybe he should have asked them that before? _Oh well, too late now_ , he thought to himself as his heart continued to bang loudly against his sternum. 

Erica’s phone went to voicemail and the signal was lost. But thankfully a location popped up on the screen. 

“Yes!” Stiles yelped, maybe a little louder than a whisper, while fist-pumping the air. 

“Shh!” Scott replied. “You got it?” 

“They’re in North-Central Iowa. The nearest cell phone tower is in some town called Algona. Well at least, that’s where her phone is.” 

“It’s better than nothing. Let’s get outta here.” Scott said. 

And as stealthily as they got in, they snuck back out of the station and dashed to Derek’s awaiting car. With the closing of the last car door, Derek slammed his foot on the gas, his tires screeching against the pavement as they drove away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know your thoughts on the story as it develops. All comments are welcome and appreciated! Thanks!


	2. Road Trip

At around midday, Stiles and Scott once again arrived at the Hale house in Stiles’ blue jeep. This time though, they each had a small duffel bag of clothes and essentials. Derek and Isaac were already waiting alongside Derek’s Camaro.

“Alright, let’s get going,” Derek said, his voice harsh and commanding. Stiles had come to refer to it as Derek’s “growly voice.” 

“No Jackson or Peter?” Scott inquired. 

“No,” Derek replied flatly, clearly not intending to elaborate. Scott opened his mouth, presumably to ask why but Derek flashed him the “growly eyes” and Scott’s mouth snapped shut. 

“Shotgun!” Stiles called out as he and Scott approached the shiny black car. Isaac chuckled. Derek did not look amused. But then again, when did Derek ever look amused? 

“Fine. Get in,” was all Derek said and as soon as the four bags were in the trunk and the four boys were in the car, he sped off down the country road in the direction of the highway. 

“So what lie did you guys end up using to get away?” Isaac inquired as soon as they had settled. 

Stiles craned his neck around the headrest to talk to Isaac in the back seat. “Oh, we just said that Coach was holding a lacrosse camp at a place a half-an-hour north and that we had just forgotten to mention it. We said it would last all week so hopefully that will buy us enough time. At first, I didn’t think my dad would buy it but as soon as I started talking about being first line and wanting to keep my spot, I don’t think he heard much else.” 

Stiles knew how proud his dad was of him for making first line on the lacrosse team. He really didn’t want to let him down. He also hated lying directly to his dad’s face but he wasn’t left with much of a choice. And he had a lot of practice lying to his dad over the past year. It had almost become second nature. 

“Yea, my mom is used to me forgetting things so she wasn’t surprised when I told her I had almost forgotten about the camp. She didn’t question me much about it.” Scott added. 

Stiles nearly asked Isaac what lie he told his parents before the realization struck him that Isaac’s father was no longer “in the picture” and that Isaac didn’t have anyone to lie to in order to sneak away for a few days. The realization made Stiles sad. He knew what it was like to lose a parent. He didn’t want to imagine what it’d be like to lose both. No one should have to be so alone like that. He made a mental note to try and be nicer to Isaac. The guy could probably use a friend or two. 

A few quiet moments passed before Derek said, “It’ll take us just about two days driving to get there. When we do, we’ll track down Erica and Boyd by scent and deal with whatever we find there.” 

“What if we get there and they’ve been… uh…. you know…. killed?” Stiles didn’t want to say the word. Sure, he wasn’t very close with Erica or Boyd but they were still his classmates and he definitely didn’t want to see them dead. 

“They’re alive.” Derek replied. “I’d have felt it if they’d been murdered.” 

Stiles should have realized that much. He knew an Alpha drew its strength from its pack. If a member of his pack had been lost, it made sense that Derek would know. 

On that somber note, the car fell quiet. Stiles suddenly wished he’d thought to bring a Gameboy or something. He reached out to press the power button on the radio. His hand was met with a firm slap from Derek in the driver’s seat. 

“Ow!” Stiles whined. “C’mon! We can’t go the whole trip in silence. So it’s either let me put on the radio or listen to me talk your ear off for the next several hours.” Derek glared as Stiles once again reached out and pressed the power button on the radio but he didn’t hit Stiles’ hand away. 

“I thought so,” Stiles muttered under his breath, knowing the glaring wolf could hear each word perfectly. 

** 

Stiles’ head jerked awake as the car came to a halt. They were in the parking lot of a small motel off the highway somewhere in Wyoming. Derek had driven twelve hours straight and it was now almost one in the morning. The three passengers had offered much earlier in the trip to help out with the driving but Derek refused to let any of the three “car accidents waiting to happen get anywhere near the steering wheel of the only thing left in this world that he truly loved.” Derek’s words, not Stiles’. 

And Stiles guessed that was why they were in the parking lot of a shady, backroad motel at one in the morning. 

“We can’t afford to be caught weary should we encounter a threat,” Derek said as he turned the key in the ignition, silencing the car’s engine. “We’ll stay here till daybreak and then get back on the road. I’ll get us some rooms.” 

After a few moments, Isaac had turned his ear in the direction of the check-in counter and said, “Oh man, he’s getting two rooms with queen-sized beds. Not it for sleeping with Derek!” He had brought his finger to his nose as he said it. 

Scott had brought his finger to his nose in an instant. “Not it!” he yelped. 

“No fair!” Stiles whined. “I don’t have super wolfy hearing or super wolfy reflexes. You gotta play fair here! We’ll rock-paper-scissors for it.” Stiles could think of few things more awkward than sharing a bed with Derek Hale. 

“Okay,” Scott answered, almost a little too enthusiastically. Werewolves couldn’t cheat at rock-paper-scissors, right? 

“Rock! Paper! Scissors!” they said in unison. Stiles had thrown down rock but both Isaac and Scott had thrown paper. 

“Oh well. Guess you lose. Sorry, bro.” Scott said consolingly and yet there was no sentiment in his voice. Maybe werewolves could cheat at rock-paper-scissors? Surely his heartbeat or breathing wouldn’t be able to give away his move. But then again, trying to get an honest answer out of the two teens seemed like a lost cause so Stiles decided instead to go with annoying them into submission, one of his specialties. 

“C’mon, you guys! He’s your Alpha. He’s your wolfy leader. One of you guys should be the one to share a room with him. It’ll be just like sharing a bed with your dad.” Stiles pleaded. 

“Yea, it’d be like sharing a bed with your angry, bipolar, throws-you-into-a-wall-if-you-look-at-him-wrong dad. No, thanks. I’ll take Scott. He’s nicer.” Isaac said grinning. 

“Yea, plus for me, he’s more like a step-dad. And nobody wants to share a bed with their step-dad,” Scott added. 

Before Stiles could argue further, Derek was pounding on the window. 

“Let’s go,” he said. Stiles hoped the Alpha hadn’t heard the entire conversation that had just taken place but knew that hope was in vain. The guy could hear a leaf hit the ground a mile away or so it seemed. With a sigh, Stiles followed Derek to their room. 

** 

Falling asleep never came easily for Derek. Not recently, anyway. Lying down at night was when all his past mistakes weighed on his mind. He was plagued by the sins of his past. All the people he let down. Tonight was no different. He thought of Erica and of Boyd, the two young pups that were his responsibility to protect and how he had let them down. Where were they now? Would he find them in time? 

His pack was in shambles. Erica and Boyd were missing. Jackson was vacationing in Bermuda with his family. Jackson and Derek had fought long and hard about letting the boy go on the trip. His control was better than when he was first turned but not by much and in Bermuda there’d be no one to clean up Jackson’s messes. But the boy was fiercely independent and already pushing dangerously close to leaving the pack and becoming an Omega so Derek had reluctantly conceded to allow the boy to go. And of course there was Peter, who he could really use right now but who Derek still refused to fully trust. The man may be his uncle but there was still no evidence as to who was behind Erica and Boyd’s disappearance and so Derek couldn’t rule out the possibility that his uncle may be involved. 

So that just left Isaac, a good wolf and a loyal pup but Derek couldn’t exactly hunt down the two missing wolves with one naïve teenager, could he? So he had enlisted the help of Scott and his tagalong friend, Stiles. And they had proven useful, both now and in the past. But would it be enough to get Erica and Boyd back? He hoped so. It would have to be enough. 

Derek snapped his eyes shut, determined to shut up his demons and actually get some sleep. He meant what he had said earlier in the car. They needed to be at top strength. He could feel a threat coming. He knew their destination would be a battle. And he would meet that battle head-on as the Alpha. 

He focused on the heartbeat of the sleeping boy next to him. The gentle lub-dub should provide enough distraction from his encroaching thoughts to fall asleep. It was an old trick his sister Laura had taught him so long ago. “If you’re too distracted to sleep,” she had said. “Focus all your senses on one constant, like the beat of your heart or the buzz of an air conditioner and let the repetitive sounds lull you into sleep.” Derek could still hear her voice in his mind, like she had said it to him yesterday. He had gone over many of their conversations repetitively in his mind during the past year, cementing her words in his brain. He promised himself he’d never forget them, he’d never forget her. Even if remembering her made his heart ache. 

It wasn’t a foolproof trick by any means but maybe it would work tonight. Or so Derek hoped. The continuous pitter-patter of the boy’s heart filled Derek’s ears with a repetitive rhythm while the gentle inhale and exhale of air from the boy’s lungs echoed in harmony. The warm flutter of the boy’s scent filled Derek’s nose. Derek’s mind emptied and he drifted off to the land of his dreams… 

~ 

He looked to his left, Stiles still lay asleep. 

He looked around the room. He had been here before, long ago. The walls were white then. Now they were a soft blue. The bed used to be against the other wall. The pictures hanging were different. The furniture was different too. But he knew this was the master bedroom of the Hale house. 

Light shone in through the open window. It was morning. The smell of the fresh morning dew wafted throughout the room. As he inhaled it in, he caught another scent, a wonderful scent. It smelled like cherries and honey, like warmth and love. It smelled like family. It smelled like home. 

He looked back at Stiles and was almost surprised to find the smell was coming from him. He stared at the boy where he laid asleep, stomach-down with his head faced in the other direction. The soft pitter-patter of his heart filled Derek’s ears. The sound felt familiar, like he had listened to it a hundred other times on a hundred other mornings. His breathing was smooth and steady, like the rolling of the tides. With a lazy turn of his neck and a quiet sigh, the boy turned his head to face Derek but his eyes remained closed, still fast asleep. Derek saw the boy had actually aged some. He was a young man now. But Derek could still see the soft curves of the boy hidden in the older Stiles’ face. 

Derek turned on his side to better face the sleeping figure. He inched closer until his face was mere inches from that of his companion. The warm exhale of Stiles’ breath brushed past his cheek. Then another. Then a third. Each breath was hot with his scent. The scent that was so familiar and so foreign, the scent that felt like home, the scent that was warm and sweet in his nose. 

He could resist no longer. He inched his head forward once more until his puckered lips brushed against those of the young man. Derek’s upper lip instinctively found its place nestled above the other man’s upper lip while his lower lip found its way to the crooked space between the two. He squeezed his lips softly, nudging them against those of the young man. The sensation felt so familiar, like a drop in the bucket, like a kiss lost amongst a thousand other kisses. 

Stiles’ eyes popped open, their instant expression of shock quickly softening to an expression of welcoming and dare he say, love? Those warm, inviting butterscotch eyes were meant for Derek and only Derek. 

Their lips continued to softly caress each other. Derek let the tip of his tongue slip between his open lips into Stiles’ awaiting mouth. He felt the tip of the other man’s tongue tenderly brush against his own. He barely noticed as the young man gently lifted his hand to place it behind Derek’s head, pulling him closer, pressing their mouths tightly together. Derek closed his eyes, falling into the kiss, letting his senses of touch, taste, and smell be his guide. 

When he finally broke free from the young man’s face to catch his breath, he looked up into Stiles’ eyes. Where once had rested warm fields of butterscotch now resided cool plains of crystalline amethyst. It had been a long time since Derek had seen eyes of that color, of such a rich and endless violet. A shiver shook through his body… 

~

Derek’s eyes shot open. 

The smell of the dingy motel room burned his throat as he inhaled deeply. The cruel mixture of cigarettes, mold, dirt, and bleach felt caustic against his keen werewolf sense of smell. 

The morning rays of light were passing through the dingy curtain that hung off the small window. He sat up in bed. It had been a dream, of course, but it felt so real. As real as if he had lived it yesterday. He could remember each second with precise detail and yet he knew it wasn’t real. It was a fantasy, a dream. The image of those crystal eyes burned in his brain. Why _those_ eyes? What kind of games was his psyche trying to play on him? It had to be this place, this horrible motel room that smelled of neglect and lustful sins. It was making him delusional. 

He looked to where the boy slept, just a foot or so away. 

_There, you see?_ He thought to himself. No feelings of love or warmth or home. Just the same old annoying teenager who at times proved himself slightly more useful than irritating. He picked up his pillow and slapped the boy roughly with it. 

“Wake up,” he said coldly. 

The boy groaned, tossing the pillow across the room where it hit a wall and fell to the floor. 

“What the hell?” he grumbled. His eyes opened wearily, bright copper and no different than the night before. They were exactly the way they were supposed to be. Ordinary. 

“Time to hit the road.” 

** 

Stiles slumped against the cushioned leather seat. Removing the wrapper from the Hostess apple pie in his hands, he dove in, scarfing down a bite that was just a tad too big for his mouth. The flaky crust and sweet apple filling danced around his tongue before he swallowed it down. It wasn’t exactly the breakfast of champions, but it was the best the little gas station mart could offer. 

Scott sat down next to him in the backseat, a pie in each hand. Isaac sat directly in front of Stiles. It was only fair that someone else get a turn in the passenger seat. And of course, Derek plopped down in the driver’s seat, adorning his signature Aviator sunglasses before hitting the gas pedal and speeding off towards the highway. 

The day passed slowly. The gentle lull of the car and the soft rock tunes on the radio pushed Stiles in and out of consciousness as morning turned to afternoon and afternoon turned to evening. No one talked much during the day, each boy left to his own thoughts as to what was ahead and whether they’d be able to handle it. As evening turned to night, they crossed the Iowa state border. 

Stiles watched the road signs pass by as they continued along the interstate. The lights of all the little houses and street lamps glittered on the dark horizon. The rocky, mountainous landscape of the morning had been replaced by miles upon miles of flat corn fields. 

He surveyed the car. Scott was asleep to his left, the boy’s head resting comfortably on his balled up sweatshirt that he had fashioned into a makeshift pillow. Isaac was asleep too, his head nestled between the headrest and the window, his shallow breaths creating a small patch of condensation on the glass. 

And Derek was driving, his left hand clutched tightly on the steering wheel, his right hand rhythmically tapping the console divider between his seat and Isaac’s. The tapping sounded impatient, a subconscious itching to arrive at one’s destination. Stiles looked at Derek through the rearview mirror, the man’s eyes focused on the outstretched road ahead. His jaw was clenched tight, his expression some mixture of determination, anger, and focus. 

The man’s eyes moved and met Stiles’ in the mirror. For a second they held each other’s gaze, Stiles silently watching the eyes looking directly back at him. He could barely make out their color, a soft combination of green and hazel, as the lights of an oncoming semi lit up the cab of the car. He held the man’s gaze for a second more before looking away. 

Looking out the window, he watched silently as the rows and rows of growing corn crops passed by. His eyes instinctively turned back to the mirror. Hazel-green eyes met his again but the face Stiles saw didn’t look so harsh this time, didn’t look so stressed. But that had to be Stiles’ imagination. 

He held the gaze with Derek for a few more seconds this time, neither one of them saying a word, before he turned again to watch the rows upon rows of passing corn. 

**

Derek pulled into the parking lot of the small country motel with its neon vacancy sign glowing in the night. They were probably about 4 hours from the location Stiles had found at the police station. He wished he could just drive there now and find Erica and Boyd right away but his three passengers were deep in their slumbers and he had to admit his eyelids were beginning to feel heavy. In the morning, they would drive the last few hours and begin the search for Erica and Boyd’s scents. And they would find them. They had to. 

But for now, bed. As the car came to a halt, Isaac’s head jerked awake. As he turned off the ignition, the two boys in the back seat began to stir into consciousness. Derek entered the small registration office, paid the sleepy man at the counter forty bucks for two rooms, and returned to his car with the two keys jiggling in his hand. 

After grabbing his bag and locking the car, he tossed a key to Scott. He and Isaac began their lazy walk to the door marked number 4. Stiles followed him to the room next door marked number 5. After a quick change of his jeans for some athletic shorts and Stiles replacing his khaki shorts for some sweatpants, the two had clicked off the lights and climbed into the ancient-looking queen-sized bed. 

Stiles turned on his side, facing away from Derek. Derek soon heard his breathing slow and his heartbeat steady as the tired boy quickly dozed back to sleep. Derek lay on his back, watching the arms of the old, wooden ceiling fan follow their repetitive orbit. 

Derek was thankful for the old fan. It helped wash away the smell of Stiles’ scent, the scent Derek had spent most of the day desperately trying to ignore. In fact, most of the afternoon had been spent trying to suppress every memory of the previous night’s dream. The dream that felt so vivid, so real. The dream he needed to forget. 

Derek closed his eyes. He focused his ears on the rhythmic creaking and clanking of the old fan circling above his head and drowned out everything else, most of all the quiet pitter-patter to his left that kept calling to him. Creak-clank-creak-clank went the old fan as Derek emptied his mind, letting his weariness push him headfirst into slumber... 

~

He was walking through a hallway. He recognized it immediately from his childhood as belonging to the second floor of his house. The hallway wasn’t broken down or decrepit, though. It was built anew, shiny cream-colored paint covering the walls and new paintings hanging where the old family portraits of his childhood once hung. 

He looked to his left into the open doorway of the room that so long ago had served as his bedroom. He thought of the small bed that used to sit in the corner with his raggedy blue comforter. He thought of the Harley-Davidson poster that once hung over his old bed. He thought of the piles of clothes, forgotten books, and baseball gear that would litter his old floor. 

None of that remained. Now the walls were a vibrant pink. The bed in the corner was adorned with Disney princess sheets and the floor was littered with dolls and stuffed animals. The changes should be surprising, should tug at his mind questioningly. But the landscape before him felt right, felt perfectly normal, like he had seen it all before. Derek smiled at the sight as he continued to walk down the hall. 

He turned at the wooden staircase which had been rebuilt and polished to regain the elegance it once had so long ago. He took each step in turn until he had reached the first floor. The foyer was beautiful once again, the rays of the morning sun pouring in through the clear windows, and the large front door restored to its proper splendor. The black iron chandelier that hung overhead had been a tough piece to track down but they had found it from a manufacturer in Vermont and had it shipped to the house. 

He entered the kitchen and the warm, rich smell of freshly brewed coffee hit his nose. His eyes rested on the small, wooden kitchen table to his left. There sat Stiles. Not the boy Stiles, the young man Stiles. His back was to Derek and the day’s newspaper was sprawled out in front of him on the table. Stiles casually lifted the coffee cup off the table, bringing the steaming liquid to his lips as his attention remained fixed on the black and white words. In the same motion, the cup returned to the table. 

Derek stepped closer to the man, silently, until he stood directly behind him. Seconds passed and neither of them made a sound. Derek knew the man could hear him, could smell him, but he remained quiet anyway, not even turning his head in Derek’s direction. It was a game they had played many times before. It was reminiscent of the times when Derek really could sneak into a room without Stiles knowing, a time when sighting Derek around a corner or behind a door would cause Stiles to jump out of his skin in a panic. 

Derek leaned in, wrapping his arms around the man’s shoulders, his hands locking over the man’s sternum. He could feel Stiles’ heartbeat quickening beneath his hands and hear the slight gasp in the man’s mouth as Derek squeezed his arms tight. Dropping his neck, Derek let his chin come to rest on Stiles’ shoulder. 

“Good morning.” 

“Good morning, Sour Wolf,” the man replied. 

A playful growl rumbled through Derek’s throat at the sound of the nickname. It had irked him when Stiles had first given the nickname years ago but now he couldn’t help but blush whenever Stiles uttered the pet-name. Derek buried his nose in Stiles’ neck, nuzzling him roughly and letting the tiny hairs in his stubble scratch against the man’s pale skin. He squeezed Stiles tighter, pulling his warm body against his own. Inhaling deeply at Stiles’ neck, he took in the man’s scent. His nose, throat, and lungs all seemed to instantly heat up as he breathed it in, the smell that even after all this time seemed too indescribable to be put into words and so he fell to his default description of cherries and honey, knowing all the while it was so much sweeter than that, so much more delicious. 

He closed his eyes and breathed in again. This time the scent was tinged with something else, the unmistakable smell of arousal. The smell urged Derek on and he nipped at Stiles’ neck with his teeth, tugging the smooth skin between his jaws and then releasing it. Stiles moaned softly with pleasure. His neck turned and suddenly their lips met. And no sooner had their lips touched did they become entangled in each other, lips and tongues flowing over each other, sticky and hot and wet. 

Stiles inhaled deeply, breathing in Derek’s scent and Derek followed suit, the smell of both of their arousal filling the small room. Their lips never breaking, Stiles turned the chair with his foot, giving him access to stand up. He turned in Derek’s arms, bringing their chests together, their racing hearts pounding against each other, calling out to each other. Stiles’ left hand was in Derek’s hair, pulling him tightly against Stiles’ hot mouth. The other hand was tugging at Derek’s wifebeater, yanking it upwards. 

Derek was then pulling at the large T-shirt draped over the young man’s torso. It was one of Derek’s shirts, but more often than not it served as sleepwear for Stiles. Even after all this time, Derek loved the sight of the man draped in one of his shirts. It was a subtle reminder that the man was _his_ , all his. A quick separation of their lips and the two garments found themselves cast aside. Derek pulled the man tight against him, running his hands over Stiles’ bare back, the smooth skin tingling beneath Derek’s touch. Stiles was placing wet kisses against Derek’s left pectoral, then his right, then dotting a trail of kisses up Derek’s neck. He arched his chin, exposing his neck to the younger man, a show of submission he’d make for no one else. He moaned in pleasure as Stiles nibbled at his neck, tugging at the skin with his teeth. Their lips met again and Derek’s tongue invaded Stiles’ mouth, writhing over teeth and gums and tongue. 

Derek felt a tug at his waistband. Stiles yanked down and Derek’s athletic shorts hit the floor. His wolf was rising beneath his skin, and that wasn’t the only thing that was rising. Derek’s teeth and claws were tingling, begging to be set free, but he would control his wolf for as long as humanly possible, savoring each moment, each touch, each kiss. Then, Stiles’ underwear hit the floor and the wolf was clawing at the surface. Derek’s control was slipping. His teeth were becoming sharper and his nails were becoming longer and pointed. The elastic waistband of his underwear, the only thing standing between Derek and his desires, stretched angrily against his hot skin. He yanked at it roughly, his claws tearing it as it fell to the floor. Their eyes met for an instant. Deep reds meeting crystalline violets. Derek could get lost in those eyes. 

He pulled Stiles tight against him, their hot bodies contouring to one another. And then Stiles was turning, gently bending himself over the chair he had been sitting in not five minutes prior and Derek wanted nothing more than to take him roughly, to passionately claim him as his own, to love him now and forever… 

~

Derek’s eyes shot open. His breath was heightened and he was drenched in sweat. The fan above him was still creaking violently. Even with its breeze, though, Derek could smell the scent of arousal and the stink of pheromones in the room. He knew it was all coming from him. Stiles was sound asleep to his left, unaware of the events that had just unfolded in Derek’s mind. The events that currently had his waistband straining. He took a deep breath and calmed himself. _Just a dream_ , he told himself. 

The sun was peaking over the horizon. He couldn’t focus on the insanity of his dreams. He had a mission. In a couple of hours it would be time to wake the others. Then he would reclaim his pack. He was ready. 


	3. A Lucky Break

Stiles’ hair wisped violently in the wind as the car sped down the highway. Well it would, if Stiles’ hair was long enough to wisp. They were closing in on their destination and the mood of the car was heavy with tension and anticipation. The three wolves around him were tense and it put Stiles on edge. His gas station breakfast churned uncomfortably in his stomach. Every so often, he would notice one of the wolves peak their nose up to the wind and inhale deeply, desperately searching for a hint of a scent that would point them in the direction of their missing friends.

Something changed. Stiles could sense the shift in the three wolves’ demeanor as they continued to barrel down the interstate. Isaac had buried his nose in the sleeve of his shirt and Scott was covering his nose with both hands and fighting back a cough. Even Derek had brought his wrist to his nose, covering his nostrils. Their faces told Stiles that whatever they were smelling, it was not pleasant. Stiles stuck his nose to the wind that was racing in through Scott’s open window, breathing deeply. It smelled like the country, sure, his nostrils coated with who knows how many different kinds of pollen but it didn’t smell terrible. It didn’t make him want to pull up his shirt collar over his nose and squeeze his nostrils shut with both hands like Scott was now doing. 

“What is that?!” Isaac gasped out, not releasing his nose from his sleeve but trying to lift his voice over the sound of the howling breeze flowing in from the open windows. Although, he could have probably whispered and the other wolves would have still been able to hear him with perfect clarity, even with his mouth muffled by his sleeve. Maybe it was an old habit from his human days or maybe it was for Stiles’ benefit, him being the only one without superhuman hearing. Isaac’s eyes had started watering. Stiles felt bad that everyone around him seemed to be suffering and he sat there perfectly content. 

“WOLFSBANE!” Scott yelled back, his voice muffled too as he kept his mouth and nose covered. 

“And a lot of it!” Derek added, his nose now buried in the crook of his elbow, his eyes puffing and watering. “Maybe this will help,” he added as he closed the four windows and cranked up the A/C. Then he clicked one of the many buttons on the console beneath the radio. 

“This will keep air from outside from circulating into the car. It should help keep the most of the wolfsbane pollen from getting in.” 

A few minutes passed and it seemed to be working. Scott let his collar drop off his nose and Isaac tentatively lifted his face from his sleeve. Derek’s hands were both back securely on the wheel. They all seemed to be breathing easier but Stiles could still see the remnants of water in their eyes and snot in their noses. 

“But how will we track Erica’s and Boyd’s scents if breathing the very air burns from the wolfsbane?” Scott asked as he wiped the water from his eyes against the back of his wrist. 

“That much wolfsbane pollen in the air means someone is growing it, a lot of it, acres worth of it.” Derek replied. “And only one group of people would have reason to cultivate such large amounts of wolfsbane.” 

“Hunters,” Stiles said almost instantly, a slight sigh of dejection in his voice. He was surprised he didn’t make the connection at the first mention of wolfsbane. 

“Yes, and what are the chances that two werewolves go missing a stone’s throw away from where hunters are growing vast amounts of wolfsbane and the two aren’t related?” Derek added. 

Stiles knew Derek was right. Who else could get the jump on two werewolves? Who else would be growing wolfsbane out in the fields among the corn and the soybeans? When did anything go wrong anymore that wasn’t in some way or another related to the presence of hunters? 

“So hunters have Erica and Boyd?” Stiles asked, although it wasn’t really a question. The evidence was there. 

A growl was the only response he got from Derek. 

“Great….” Stiles sighed, his voice trailing off. 

An exit ramp was approaching up ahead on the right. As they reached it, Derek began decelerating and they veered off the highway. 

“The smell’s getting stronger. We’re getting closer,” Derek said. Stiles noticed a soft nod of agreement from Scott although nothing smelled different to Stiles. 

They drove down an old country road that was in desperate need of some repaving. A cloud of dust and dirt billowed behind them as they bumbled along. For a good ten minutes they traveled, no one speaking and Derek staring intently ahead at the road before him. Apparently his nose was telling him exactly where to go. A few broken down barns passed by as they went. In the distance, Stiles could make out a farmhouse or two so it seemed the area wasn’t completely deserted but the eerie lack of noises of civilization made it feel that way. 

Then the waves of green corn leaves on either side of the car turned to waves of rich indigo. To either side of the car were rows upon rows of tiny blue flowers. 

“Wolfsbane,” Stiles whispered to himself, probably stating the obvious. 

Even with the A/C cranked to full blast, all three wolves were again burying their noses in their hands and in their sleeves. Even Stiles’ eyes were starting to feel a little watery but he thought that was more out of sympathy than actual irritation because clearly he wasn’t having as bad a time as those around him. He wasn’t stifling back coughs and he wasn’t pinching his nose shut within the folds of his t-shirt like his companions. 

A few minutes later the waves of green had returned and the wolves seemed back at ease. 

“We’re downwind of it now,” Derek said. “It shouldn’t be as strong.” 

“Thank God,” Scott muttered, his nose still runny. 

Buildings and houses seemed to become more frequent on either side of the car as they approached what seemed to be a little country town. The speed limit slowed and suddenly they were on Main Street of a tiny town called Roaring Falls. Stiles wondered how a tiny dump like this ever got named Roaring Falls. “Roaring” was the last adjective he’d use to describe anything in this dust-covered trash heap of a town and as for “Falls,” Stiles wasn’t seeing any. 

The town didn’t have a stop light, just a four way stop in the middle of town where two numbered country roads happened to cross. There was a gas station, a general store (there were still places with general stores?!), a post office, and a few other buildings coming off the main road that passed by before Stiles could identify their purpose. Derek pulled the car into the lot of a small family restaurant, probably the only one around for miles. Stiles’ stomach rumbled at the thought of food, like it knew that on the other side of that white brick wall were sandwiches, and burgers, and fries, and pies, and French toast, and… his stomach rumbled again. 

“We need to come up with a plan,” Derek said as he switched off the ignition. 

“Well, I _plan_ on getting a thick, juicy burger,” Stiles replied smiling. “Man cannot live on Hostess cakes alone.” He thought back to the fluffy pink Snoballs that had been his breakfast. Derek glared at him but what else was new. 

“Be on the lookout for suspicious people or conversations,” Derek ordered Scott and Isaac, his eyes somehow conveniently managing to pass right around Stiles as if he wasn’t there, as if it wasn’t his plan that had brought them this far in the first place. “And don’t do anything… _wolfy_ ,” he added, his hazel-green eyes meeting Stiles’ for a moment before passing on again. Stiles couldn’t help but smile at the word. Maybe he was rubbing off on Derek after all. Maybe one of these days the guy would actually smile for a change. Seriously, his frowning muscles had to be sore by now. _Fat chance_ , Stiles thought to himself. 

“We don’t want to draw any attention to ourselves,” Derek finished. 

“Got it,” Scott and Isaac replied, almost in unison. 

An older woman showed them to a booth with green upholstery next to a large window with aged white curtains that could use a good dusting. Stiles slid into the booth next to Scott and directly across from Isaac who had sat next to Derek. The woman handed out their menus before leaving them to choose their meals. 

Stiles glanced around the room instead of at his menu, already knowing he’d be ordering a juicy cheeseburger with fries. The restaurant was mostly empty. An elderly couple sat a few booths away, enjoying a couple of sandwiches. A young man and woman sat across the room, quietly talking and sipping at their glasses of water. 

As soon as they had placed their orders for beverages and meals, Stiles leaned in and said in a hushed voice, “So, Derek, do we have a plan here? How are we gonna find Erica and Boyd?” 

Isaac added, “Yea, I mean, we haven’t caught any scent of them. How do we know the hunters haven’t moved them somewhere else? That is still assuming there _are_ hunters and they did capture Erica and Boyd.” Stiles didn’t usually consider Isaac a great thinker but the guy had a point here. Wolfsbane fields were fishy but they still didn’t have any actual proof that hunters were around or that Erica and Boyd were here either. 

Derek didn’t answer right away, his eyes staring down at the table. His mind must be racing. They didn’t really have a lot of options. Stiles felt bad for the big, bad Alpha. There were a lot of questions and not a lot of answers and everyone was looking to him to come up with a plan. The guy was only a few years older than the rest of them. It wasn’t fair that he should bear the burden of figuring everything out and solving every problem, though Stiles knew that when push came to shove, the guy would probably volunteer to take on all the responsibility anyway. Some kind of Alpha instinct. Or maybe just a Derek Hale instinct. 

“Plus, chances are that if Erica and Boyd are around here, they’re held up somewhere in or around the fields of wolfsbane which will make it difficult for us to get to them without choking on the very air we need to breathe…” Scott added. Derek’s eyes glared harder. Stiles didn’t want to admit it, but Scott was right too. They were all up shit creek right now without a paddle in sight. 

Plus, there was the fact that if the hunters had been strong enough to take down Erica and Boyd, who’s to say that two more Beta werewolves plus an Alpha plus a Stiles would really be that much harder for them to take down too? Stiles kept that thought to himself. No use making a bad situation worse. 

A few moments passed and no one said anything. They resigned themselves to their thoughts, turning the gears and trying to figure out what to do next. The waitress brought their drinks. Stiles uttered a half-hearted “Thanks” as she set his Coke down in front of him. 

“Well, we _are_ werewolves. If Erica and Boyd are nearby, there’s always one surefire way to contact them,” Isaac said quietly as the waitress walked away, just out of earshot. “The howl of the Alpha is difficult to resist and can be heard for miles around. If they’re here, they’ll answer.” 

It was an encouraging thought, but Stiles knew it wouldn’t work. 

“That’s assuming they’re conscious and not bound and gagged. An assumption we can’t really make. Plus, there’s only four of us. The element of surprise is the best thing we’ve got going for us. Derek’s howl may announce our presence to Erica and Boyd, but it also announces our presence to every hunter in the county! We could end up dead! Erica and Boyd would probably end up dead too!” A hand over Stiles’ mouth instantly shut him up. 

“Shh!” Scott hissed as he let his hand go. Stiles had been getting a little too loud. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. Derek just nodded. Isaac lowered his head in defeat, his suggestion being so angrily shut down. 

Their food came soon after, burgers all around. Stiles was the only one who ordered his well-done, though. He was also the only one who was still susceptible to _E. coli_ poisoning. The other three had asked for their burgers rare. An unfortunate side-effect of being part wolf was apparently that the bloodier the meat, the better it tasted. Stiles cringed at the thought as he took a big bite into his thick, delicious, properly-cooked burger. 

They sat in silence as they ate, still no idea what exactly to do next. And Derek’s eyes seemed to be “growlier” than ever. 

** 

Derek stared down at the burger in his hands, watching the small balls of grease slowly drip onto the plate below. It tasted good but he couldn’t enjoy it. Not when the situation before him was getting worse and worse. No sign of Erica or Boyd. No sign of the hunters who probably had them. And no way to change it. 

Wow, he could so easily freak out right now, just let his wolf come out and destroy the entire building, upturn all the tables, rip through the chairs, tear apart the flesh of anyone stupid enough to get in his way. 

No, he couldn’t do that. Although he’d be lying if he said the thought didn’t sound appealing. Just a few moments to let go of the worry and confusion and stress and let his pure animal rage take over. If only. 

To his left, Isaac picked at his fries half-heartedly. Derek could smell the sorrow and confusion entangling his scent. The smell made Derek angry. He shouldn’t feel bad just because his idea hadn’t been great. At least it was an idea. At least he was trying. Derek was impressed with the young wolf and with his loyalty to Derek and to the pack. The boy always seemed willing to help others, always wanting to lend a hand. Maybe that was because he had no one. His father was dead, so was his mother, and he had no siblings. Derek could empathize with that. It was hard losing your family. _Hard_ being an understatement. But Derek couldn’t focus on Isaac right now. His other pups needed his focus more. Erica may be a bitch at times, her harsh words had infuriated Derek on more than one occasion, and Boyd may be a pain, often refusing to take Derek’s orders without question but rather demanding an explanation before acting, but they were still his pack, still his responsibility, and he _needed_ to find them. 

He took another begrudged bite of his burger, barely tasting it. He surveyed the room with his hearing for what seemed like the hundredth time, although in reality it was probably only the eleventh or twelfth. The older couple in the booth three windows down was paying their check, the man counting out dollar bills in his wallet to leave as a tip. They certainly weren’t involved with any hunters in town. Their entire conversation while they’d been eating had revolved around the price of corn seed this year, whether or not to start watering their lawn at night because it hadn’t rained in a few weeks, and if they had enough dog food left at home to last before they went grocery shopping. Completely dull. 

The man and the woman across the room hadn’t proved suspicious either. They talked about the weather of all things, and of television, and of some hopeless couple named Kyle and Whitney who were having a rocky point in their relationship. Again, boring. Nothing useful. 

Derek listened to the conversations of the waitresses in the back and of the cooks in the kitchen. Nothing suspicious. No mention of werewolves or hunters or wolfsbane or anything that might suggest that anyone here knew anything about the whereabouts of his missing wolves. He perked his ears towards the street. No one was walking on the sidewalk but there was the hum of a car passing by. Again, nothing of use. He inhaled deeply. The smell of burgers and fries hit his nostrils first and the scents of the three boys at his table. There was the smell of oil frying in the kitchens, the smell of a rosy perfume coming off one of the waitresses walking across the room, and the sweet hint of a cherry pie that must be cooling somewhere in the kitchens. There was dust and dirt and mildew too, and the faint twinge of wolfsbane burning his nose as well. The wind must have shifted, sending some of the pollen from the blue fields towards the small town. Not that Derek really expected to pick up the scent of Erica or Boyd in this tiny restaurant, especially when there had been no trace of them the last several times he had checked, but it was instinct. He couldn’t help it. 

Derek sighed and took another tasteless bite of his burger. He saw Stiles open his mouth to say something but the boy paused and closed it again. Derek looked away. He wouldn’t let himself look at the boy’s mouth for any length of time. Or the boy’s eyes. It made Derek think of other things. Of things he shouldn’t be thinking about. 

The tiny bell of the front door clanged as the door to the restaurant opened. He felt Isaac flinch to his left as the high-pitched chime rattled against the boy’s sensitive ears. Derek’s eyes flashed towards the door. A man entered the restaurant. He was in his thirties, his dirt-stained jeans matching his dirt-stained jacket. He could use a shave and his red hat was stained with sweat from many days in the hot sun. Another man entered behind him, maybe the same age, maybe a little younger. His jeans were just as dirty and his t-shirt was covered with small holes most likely from being worn running among trees and brush. Finally, a woman entered. Her wavy, dirty-blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail. She didn’t wear a dress or skirt but a pair of dusty jeans like the men and a tight t-shirt that showed her navel and a jean vest that was fraying at the edges. She didn’t have the demeanor of your typical young woman. She walked like one of the guys and her face was hardened with what seemed was years of hard work. 

Derek sniffed the air, pulling in the scents from the three strangers. The smell was tinged with dirt and sweat, not surprising given the state of their appearance. But there was something else lingering in their smell. Something that burned Derek’s nose. Wolfsbane. 

A flash of anger crossed Derek’s face. He regained control and pushed it back down. It was just a smell. There was no proof. 

The other wolves sensed the change in Derek’s demeanor. Even Stiles seemed to sense the rise in tension as he perked his head up from his food. Their heads turned to investigate the center of Derek’s attention. 

“Don’t look at them,” Derek hissed under his breath, his voice harsh and demanding. The three heads all jumped to gaze somewhere else. Derek didn’t care. He couldn’t afford the three strangers to get suspicious of the four young boys dining only a few feet away. If they were hunters, they would already be more on-guard than your average person and the unbridled stare of four strangers in a restaurant would certainly catch their attention. 

A glint of gold caught Derek’s eye. The source was a small golden necklace around the girl’s neck. Derek focused on it. The necklace was a small golden crest in the shape of a crescent moon being pierced by two swords. The hilt of each sword held a small red jewel. He knew that crest. He had seen it before in a book as a child, a book on the many clans of hunters. And there Derek had the proof he needed. These were hunters. These were enemies. These were the captors of his two lost wolves. 

The anger and hate in Derek flared again, his wolf rising and his eyes on the edge of shifting red, a red to match the jewels of the necklace. He pushed it back down with all his might. He couldn’t lose control. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t give himself away. 

“Just getting our order to go, Shirley,” one of the men was saying to the old woman who had shown the boys to their seats earlier. 

“Yep, got it right back here, Earl,” the woman was replying, heading back to the entrance of the kitchen. She returned a moment later carrying a large plastic bag filled with Styrofoam to-go containers of food. 

A quick exchange of money and the strangers were turning to leave. Derek had already pulled out his wallet and was throwing cash on the table. It was too generous a tip but he didn’t think twice about it. He didn’t have time to wait for change. He was already nudging Isaac when the bell chimed again signaling the strangers’ departure. 

“We’re leaving. Now. Go, go, go,” Derek urged, his voice pressing and forceful. His pulse was quickening. He was eager. 

The boys didn’t question. They scooted out of their seats and were following Derek toward the door. 

“Thanks very much!” Stiles was saying, giving a quick wave to the old woman at the door. “The food was excellent. Cash is on the table.” Derek didn’t take notice. He didn’t care about pleasantries right now. He was already out the door. 

“Take care!” Stiles was saying to the woman as he followed Scott and Isaac out of the restaurant. 

The three strangers had hopped into an old red pick-up and the engine was already running. Derek looked away, hoping they wouldn’t notice the four boys scurrying to the black Camaro. He knew they were out of place. He knew that given the slightest reason to look in their direction, the three hunters would recognize that something was not right about them. 

He shuffled the boys into the car as the truck turned out of the parking lot and drove away down the country road. He hopped into the driver’s seat and turned the key, the Camaro’s engine roaring to life. 

“Isaac, Scott, keep your ears focused on that pickup,” Derek commanded. Not that he really needed their help. His ears were more sensitive than theirs and he already had them locked on the truck’s sputtering engine, its continuous rumbling center-stage in Derek’s mind. Derek knew how to track and he knew how to track well. It was how he was raised. It was how he survived. The truck was just a blip on the horizon now but Derek could hear the engine as clear as if it was right next to him. They wouldn’t get away. 

The Camaro threw up a cloud of dust as it sped out of the parking lot. 

The hunt was on. 

** 

The car jerked as Derek sped out of the parking lot and Stiles’ head nearly crashed against the window. He steadied himself, regaining his balance, and clicked on his seatbelt. 

Stiles may not be a wolf but it didn’t take a private detective to clue into the fact that they were on the trail of some hunters. The three strangers had walked into the restaurant and Derek’s head had peaked up like a puppy at the sight of a bone. And now they were speeding down the country road just out of sight of the red pick-up truck but presumably still within hearing distance of Derek and the other two wolves. 

No one was talking or really even moving. Stiles started to feel a little restless. His human eyes couldn’t see the truck and his human ears couldn’t hear the truck so what use was he? He stared out the window as the waves of corn passed them by. They were driving in pursuit for five minutes or so before the waves of green had become waves of blue. They were back among the fields of wolfsbane. Of course they would be. If he were a hunter, he’d probably hide among a sea of wolfsbane too. 

He looked at his three wolfy companions. It was a familiar sight, watery eyes and runny noses on all three of their faces but their eyes and ears were still focused on the truck ahead, just outta sight. Scott was stifling back a cough and Isaac choked down a sneeze but still they kept their focus. Stiles felt oddly jealous. He had never known focus like that. Even with his ADHD meds, it was easy for his mind to wander. And that was without the harsh, allergic symptoms of wolfsbane burning his nose, eyes, and throat. 

The car jerked as Derek suddenly swerved onto a small gravel road jeering off the paved country lane. The swerve pulled Stiles attention back to the task at hand. Fields of blue still lined the car on either side. A small cloud of dust still hung in the air in front of the car presumably left over from the pick-up passing by not minutes before. 

Stiles peered out into the distance. The horizon was dotted with some farmhouses on either side but nothing out of the usual. Looking off ahead of them, he could see a farm not far in the distance. It had a few barns and silos that rose high among the flat landscape. The gravel road seemed to be leading right toward it. Derek’s focus wasn’t breaking. His eyes were full of blind anger and hate. 

“Derek!” Stiles yelled. 

The man didn’t move. Maybe Derek didn’t hear him, although that seemed unlikely. When was the last time a werewolf didn’t hear something? More likely was that Derek didn’t _want_ to hear him. 

“Derek!” Stiles shouted again, pulling on the man’s arm, ignoring the fact that Derek’s flexed bicep was sturdier than any other he had ever felt. 

“WHAT?!” Derek shouted back, his voice more growl than words. Fierce, red eyes were staring Stiles in the face behind puffy, pink eyelids. But Stiles didn’t look away. This was too important. 

“Look, I know you’re like five seconds away from wolfing out and going completely bat-shit insane and tearing off the heads of every living thing in sight but if you would just stop and _LOOK AROUND YOU_ for two seconds, you would see that this is a one-way gravel road and it is leading straight in the direction of _that barn_ and it’s the middle of the day and if that barn is filled with hunters then any minute one of them will probably notice the cloud of dust of a second car rapidly approaching their hideout!! And then we will be knee-deep in God knows how many hunters trying to kill us! Look, we know where their hideout is and unless your plan is us charging in and shooting up the place right this second, I would stop the car right freaking now and turn around so we can regroup and make a plan!!!” 

The car came screeching to a halt and Stiles thought Derek’s brake pads probably took a big hit on that one. 

Stiles eyed the big, bad wolf carefully. Derek’s eyes were closed tight, his breathing rapid, and his fists clenched tight over the steering wheel. Clearly the guy was having some kind of internal struggle. 

When the man finally opened his eyes again, the red irises had been replaced by hazel-greens but there was no less hate in them. He cranked the gearshift into reverse and turning his head to look out the rear window, began speeding back down the gravel road as quickly as they had come. 

Derek’s eyes met Stiles’ for a second as they went, Stiles still unsure if Derek was going to thank him or kill him, because let’s face it, calling the guy “moody” would be an understatement. Their eyes held for a moment before the older man looked back out the rear window. 

At least they had a lead now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this one! The next chapter will have some action so stay tuned!


	4. Plan Gone Awry

It was probably the stupidest plan that Stiles had ever heard. That’s why Stiles usually insisted on being the “Plan Guy,” so they didn’t end up doing stupid things like this. If the others had only given him more time to think, Stiles was sure he could have thought of something better. But Derek would hear none of Stiles’ complaints.

“I’m not waiting another night, Stiles,” Derek had said, really growled, only a few hours earlier. “This is the plan and you’ll stick to it!” 

The words rang in Stiles’ ears. They were harsh and commanding, Derek’s forte. That’s how Stiles wound up here, alone in the black Camaro on the side of a country road. The sun had set, day had turned to night, and the yellow moon was now high in the sky, its soft light gently bathing the countryside. 

Stiles heard a howl in the distance. That was the first sign that the plan was underway. Isaac was to let out his loudest howl a few miles due south of the hunters’ compound. The hope was that the hunters would hear it and send a team to investigate and track Isaac down. Isaac was to lead them away, making sure he didn’t get caught. 

The minutes passed slowly. Stiles gazed down the gravel road. If he squinted, he thought maybe he could just barely make out the light of the hunter’s hideout. But maybe that was his imagination. His knees bounced with impatience. Surely, no one expected him to just wait in the car like a good little boy while everyone else was out risking their lives to rescue Erica and Boyd, who by the way, no one could be sure were actually being held at this farm. 

A few more minutes passed and Stiles heard another screeching howl coming from the north. That was Scott’s howl and the second part of the plan was underway. With a group of hunters heading after Isaac due south, the hope was that hearing another wolf due north would force more of the hunters to leave the compound to chase Scott. That was, of course, assuming that this was the only hideout the hunters were using. And seriously, how could Isaac and Scott go along with this stupid plan of Derek’s? Stiles shouldn’t even call it a plan. He should call it a suicide mission. Now Derek would be storming the compound, _alone_ , wolfing out, and barreling through any hunters who stayed to guard the farm. He’d be looking for Erica and Boyd and if they weren’t there, he’d be interrogating the guards to find their location. 

He was going to get himself killed. They all were. Derek, Isaac, and Scott were going to be dying and Stiles would just be sitting here twiddling his thumbs and humming Spice Girls songs over and over in his head. 

Well, not on his watch. Derek had left him the keys to the Camaro in case the plan failed and he needed to make a getaway. He turned them in the ignition and the engine roared. Surely, Derek should have realized that Stiles didn’t run away from a fight just because he’s human. Did he learn nothing on the night Stiles crashed through the warehouse with his Jeep? Maybe this was part of Derek’s plan all along. Well, probably not. Derek’s words again rang in his ears, “and if I find you anywhere near that compound, Stiles, I’ll tear out your intestines myself.” 

Stiles ignored Derek’s words and pounded on the gas pedal. 

A few minutes later Stiles found himself parked just outside the farm’s main barn. The thing was huge, three or four stories tall, and the entire outside seemed to be reinforced with metal plating. It looked a lot bigger and a lot sturdier than a building used just to store animals or grains. The lamppost to his left illuminated the entire area. Stiles gazed from the two large silos to the smaller sheds to the old farmhouse and then back to the large barn but he didn’t see any people around the compound. 

A blood-chilling howl pierced the night air and Stiles knew Derek was nearby and was certainly wolfed out. The sound came from the direction of the barn, of course. Stiles opened the car door, his hand shaking as it reached for the handle. _You can do this. You can do this. You can do this._ He repeated the words to himself in his head, gaining control over his fear and closing the door behind him. 

He removed the small tazer and the can of pepper spray from his pockets, brandishing one in each hand. He had felt stupid when his dad had given them to him. It had been right after he was attacked by the kanima at the mechanic’s garage. His dad had said “just in case” when he handed them to Stiles and Stiles had rolled his eyes. Now, though, he was happy to have some semblance of a weapon in his hands. Although, he couldn’t help but think that a gun or a knife or one of Allison’s crossbows would probably be more useful. 

Stiles quickened his step as he approached the nearest door on the barn. He looked over his shoulder as he went but thankfully only the car and the fields and the night were behind him. He reached the door. _Please be unlocked!_ He thought to himself as he turned the handle. It turned in his hand and the door opened. _Yes!_

He entered a hallway lined with tile beneath his feet and fluorescent lights above. It was not the hay-infested and old, wooden interior he was expecting when he thought of what should be in a barn. He shuffled down the hall on the balls of his feet, trying not to make any sound as he hurried toward the door at the end of the hall. He could hear a commotion coming from up ahead, yelling and crashing, and gunshots. Another howl ripped through the air, closer than before and ringing in Stiles’ ears. 

He reached the other door and noticed it was slightly askew, the locking mechanism bent and broken, and a large dent in the center where someone had kicked the door in, presumably Derek. Stiles edged the door open, surveying the room as he slowly inched through the door. 

The room was huge, making up the majority of the square footage of the barn. Large fluorescent lights were high overhead, hanging high from the ceiling which stood three stories up. They lit the entire room whose walls and floor all appeared to be made of reinforced concrete rather than wooden planks. The back wall was lined with a myriad of weapons racks. Dozens of large crates were stacked against the wall to his left. In the center of the room were three large cages forged from thick steel bars. Two of the cages housed familiar faces, albeit a little wolfier than Stiles cared to remember. Erica was dirty, her hair messy, and completely wolfed out, shaking at the metal bars gripped in her hands and half-yelling, half-howling uncontrollably. Boyd was in the cage next to her, full-wolf as well, arms reaching through the bars and claws scratching at the air. Towards the back of the room and to the right was a long, wooden table. Atop it was a collection of beakers, graduated cylinders and other assorted glassware, what looked like a giant mortar and pestle, test tubes, and syringes, and a huge pile of clipped wolfsbane flowers. To Stiles it almost looked like a giant chemistry set and it felt out of place. 

In the center of the large room stood Derek, but not the Derek that Stiles was used to. His Alpha form had completely taken over. He towered over his enemies, his body covered in black fur and the remnants of his clothes littering the floor. His powerful arms and legs had doubled in size and his claws were the size of daggers. Amidst the snout and black fur of his face resided two large, ruby eyes glowing with fury. If Stiles hadn’t known Derek was the Alpha, there’d be no way to know it was Derek whose body had transformed into this monstrous beast. The wolf was howling in rage, swinging at his attackers. Stiles counted what looked like four bullet holes in the werewolf’s torso and at least two large, bleeding gashes along his arms. The wounds weren’t healing at the usual superhuman speed, however. Stiles figured they must have been inflicted with wolfsbane-stained weapons. 

Three hunters were surrounding the Alpha wolf. One looked familiar to Stiles and he recognized her as the woman he’d seen at the restaurant. She was armed with a crossbow, standing off to the side as she reloaded an arrow. A second woman stood back as well, a shotgun in her hands aimed straight at Derek. The third hunter was the one that had the Alpha preoccupied. He was a beast of a man himself and in each hand he was armed with a large silver axe. Each axe was dripping with blood and among the blood stains was what looked like some kind of blue powder. Stiles knew it was wolfsbane. That’s why Derek’s gashes weren’t healing. The man’s arms were covered in bleeding scratches. Apparently, Derek had gotten a few good blows in too. 

Stiles gripped the tazer tightly in his hand. No one seemed to notice that he’d entered the room and though he still had the element of surprise, he’d only have it for a moment more. The woman with the shotgun was closest, her back was to him. He ran at her, his feet stomping loudly as he went. She turned just as Stiles was raising the tazer to her neck. He didn’t watch as he pressed the trigger and her body jolted as she fell to the floor, making the tiniest of yelps as she went. 

The other woman now had her eyes locked on Stiles, screaming as her friend fell to the floor. Her crossbow was aimed directly at him. He dove behind a large wooden crate just in time as an arrow went whizzing past his arm. Derek emitted another ear-rattling howl, continuing to swipe and stab at the man with the axes. The two were focused only on each other, neither allowing themselves to look away from their opponent even for a moment. 

The woman was reloading another arrow. He only had seconds before she’d be shooting again. Stiles hurled himself to where the fallen girl’s shotgun had landed. He knelt to pick it up, fumbling it in his shaking hands as he wrapped one hand around the barrel and the other over the trigger. He turned, still kneeling, and aimed it at the woman with the crossbow. 

His gun was aimed at her. Her bow was aimed at him. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, his eyes wide with fear. He pulled his trigger instinctively, not thinking about the fact that he was aiming a gun at another human being and firing. It was eat or be eaten, kill or be killed, and there was no place for a conscience here. 

The kickback hit Stiles firm in the shoulder as a wide spread of metal fragments and blue smoke emitted from the gun. A sharp pain stabbed his right thigh as he fell backwards on the ground. The woman fell to the ground too, her bow clanging loudly as it fell from her hands. She stopped moving. 

Stiles looked down at his leg. A long golden arrow shaft was sticking through his jeans. The fabric was staining with dark red blood. His heart beat faster, if that was possible, his adrenaline coursing and his breathing uncontrollable. _I’m dying! I’m dying! I’ve been shot! I’m dying!_ The words screamed in his head over and over and he couldn’t catch his breath. He was hyperventilating, staring as the blood stain expanded down the leg of his jeans. 

His first instinct was to rip the arrow out. His hands wrapped around the wooden shaft, prepared to pull. _Get it out! Get it out!_ His brain screamed. _No, no! Wait!_ The other side of his brain was saying. _If I pull it out, I’ll bleed to death faster._ And maybe that side of his brain knew what it was talking about. He should listen to that side of his brain. 

He undid the buckle of his belt, his hands shaking, his heart still racing. He tugged at the end but it was stuck on the belt loops. _C’mon! C’mon! C’MON!!!!_ He screamed in his head, or did he scream it outloud? He wasn’t sure. Finally, the belt pulled through the final loop and he was wrapping it around his thigh above the arrow, clamping it down tight. It hurt like hell and he grimaced in pain but he knew it was working. The spread of the blood was slowing. Maybe he wouldn’t die here after all. 

Minutes had passed and he had no idea what was going on with the fight. The man with the axes was leaning over the fallen woman. He was screaming and crying. His axes were missing. Stiles looked to the Alpha in the center of the room. He was howling louder than before and how had Stiles missed that? It was ringing in his ears now, the pain, the torment. Stiles wanted to clamp his hands on his ears to make it stop. Two large silver axes were stuck deep in the wolf’s chest. He had staggered backward, pulling at one of the handles and yanking the axe out of his flesh. He howled again in pain as blood flowed from the exposed wound. 

Stiles looked back to the hunter. He was picking the woman up off the floor, his face flooded with tears. Stiles crawled across the floor, hiding again behind the wooden crate. He clutched the shotgun tightly to his chest, not even sure if it had any shots left. _Please don’t kill me! Please don’t kill me!_ He repeated to himself in his head. He mustered up the scraps of courage he had left and peeked around the edge of the crate. 

The man was standing up, the woman in his arms still unmoving. He had some sort of small remote in his hand. He pressed the large button in the center of the remote and then ran toward the exit. Stiles ducked his head back behind the crate as the man passed. He looked back again just as the man had left the room. _What’s going on?_ Stiles thought. Had the man retreated? Was it all over? 

The Alpha formally known as Derek had just pulled the second axe out of his black-furred chest, dropping it to the floor with a clang. He howled again in pain. Then, two more howls hit Stiles’ ears. His eyes darted toward their source. The first had come from Erica and the second from Boyd, both of whom were exiting their cages, the doors of which were now wide open. _Was that what the remote had done?_ Stiles thought. It must have been because only a minute sooner, those doors had been locked tight. 

Boyd was already running, his teeth bared and his claws at the ready. His eyes glowed a fierce gold and they were locked straight on Derek. Apparently this wasn’t going to be the happy reunion Stiles was expecting. Stiles didn’t think twice. Forgetting the blinding pain in his thigh, he jumped up from behind the crate and yelled. 

“Derek! Behind you!!” 

Stiles wasn’t sure if the Derek he knew was still conscious inside the head of the towering black beast. Either way, the warning was in vain. Before Derek could even turn, Boyd was upon him, jumping on his back and howling, scratching, and biting furiously at the Alpha’s flesh. 

Stiles’ eyes met Erica’s, hers glowing golden with rage and staring directly at him. The shotgun was shaking in Stiles’ hands. She was running. She was growling. Her teeth were gleaming and sharp. Her claws were aiming directly for him. The distance between them closed rapidly. 

She pounced. 

He pulled the trigger. 

** 

Derek was pure wrath, pure chaos, pure wolf. Releasing the full extent of his inner Alpha wolf meant releasing all control and operating on pure instinct. He hated releasing the control, but it was necessary. 

He had battled the hunters, fighting desperately to defeat his enemies and free his captive pups. He endured the sting of the wolfsbane, ignoring the burning poison seeping through his veins. 

He didn’t notice the trembling heartbeat of the boy until he had already taken down one of the hunters. She had fallen and the smell of singed flesh hit the wolf’s nose. But he couldn’t focus on that. The man was in front of him, threatening, attacking, swinging. 

A shot rang and the second woman had hit the floor. The trembling heartbeat of the boy was beating faster. The fallen woman’s heartbeat was slowing, her breathing shallow. She wasn’t dead but she was close to it. 

The smell of blood hit the wolf’s nose. Not his own blood, nor that of the hunters, but that of the boy. The boy was hurt. _His_ boy was hurt. The wolf howled, fuming and crazed. He looked to the boy, to the arrow piercing his flesh. He had to go to him. He had to fix him. 

Then, there was blinding pain. An axe in his chest. He howled. More blinding pain. A second axe. The wolfsbane boiled his blood from the inside out. His vision was blurring, his muscles staggering. 

When he had pulled out the second axe and dropped it to the ground, the man and the woman were gone. With the axes removed, his eyes and muscles seemed to be working again but the burn of the wolfsbane still singed in his wounds. He looked to the boy who now seemed to be yelling something. His face was full of fear. What was he saying? 

There was a howl in his ear and Boyd was on his back, his teeth and nails digging into his flesh. The wolf took over the instant the sharp pain impulses from his new wounds reached his brain. A challenger. A threat. An attack. 

The Beta was no match for the Alpha. Derek howled loudly, the howl of the Alpha, the fierce howl that would force his Betas into submission. He would end this now. 

But Boyd wasn’t stopping. It didn’t make sense. No Beta could resist the order of its Alpha. Teeth were now clamping on his neck, tearing at the muscle, going for the kill. Instinct took over, hate and rage and fury. The Alpha reached around and grabbed the Beta by the throat, daggers burying into the other wolf’s flesh. The Beta howled in pain, his jaws releasing, and Derek threw the wolf into a nearby wall. The wolf fell to the floor with a crash. Derek could feel the cuts in his back had nearly healed and the tear in his neck had already stopped bleeding. Without the suppressive effects of wolfsbane in these wounds, his werewolf healing could rapidly repair the damage inflicted by the Beta. Just like he thought, no match. Only the two large gashes in his chest, the ones laced with wolfsbane, were still trickling a steady flow blood. 

Derek didn’t give the Beta a chance to get up. He pounced at Boyd where he had fallen. One slash across the Beta’s chest and then another. The smaller wolf screamed in pain. Then, the Beta’s leg was between Derek’s jaws. Derek clamped down tight, not releasing until he heard the crushing of bone. The wounds an Alpha inflicted to a Beta would heal, but slowly. With only one intact leg to stand on, Boyd was now effectively out of the fight. One down. 

Derek looked up. The female Beta was on the ground. She was struggling to stand. Her torso was littered with small, bleeding wounds. The smell of wolfsbane surrounded her. The boy had shot her. 

_The boy!_

He was on the ground a few feet from where Erica was struggling. He wasn’t moving. A pool of blood swelled around him. The Alpha howled a blood-curdling cry, a cry of anguish and vehemence. 

The female Beta collapsed against the firm ground, the wolfsbane overpowering her strength as it burned her from the inside out. She cried out in pain. The Alpha ignored her. Two down. 

He rushed to where the boy lay. 

Derek reined in the Alpha wolf that had taken him over. He pulled his consciousness forward, taking control of his body. The wolf howled, refusing to relinquish control. It was a struggle. Instinct against reason. Impulse against judgment. Insanity against sanity. The wolf didn’t want to let go. It wanted to rage, wanted to fury. Derek pulled harder, focusing his mind, pulling his own muscles into submission. 

He was himself again. He was Derek. His teeth, his claws, and his eyes were still that of the wolf but not that of the fully transformed Alpha. The beast was back in its cage and he had resumed control. 

He knelt beside the boy, cradling his head in his arms. The boy was unconscious and his pulse was weak. The faint pitter-patter of his heart was quiet, too quiet, and its rhythm was irregular. His breaths were shallow and labored. The claw marks on his chest where Erica had pounced were still leaking blood. Surely, the boy’s lungs must be punctured. Maybe even his heart. He didn’t have much time before the boy’s heart would pound its final beat. No time to call an ambulance. No time to call Isaac or Scott. 

He pulled the boy’s head against his chest, cradling the boy’s shoulders in his arms. Derek was still bleeding too. Some of his blood dampened the boy’s hair but he didn’t care. He rocked back and forth, the tears streaming violently down his face. How could he let this happen? It was all his fault. He should have protected the boy. He should have kept him somewhere safe. Of course the boy would come barging into a room filled with werewolves and hunters and guns! The boy had no sense of self-preservation. He was the one with the instincts of a wolf, the instincts to protect. It was his duty to protect the boy. And he failed. It was all his fault. All Derek’s fault. Derek the rash, Derek the hasty, Derek the failure. 

He gazed through tear-stained eyes at the face nestled in his arms. The eyes that would never sparkle at him again. The mouth that would never make another foolhardy joke. The lips that he would never feel brush softly against his own. The neck he would never softly nuzzle. The arms he would never feel draped over his shoulders as the boy held him tight. The fingers that would never intertwine with his own. 

The tears fell down Derek’s face and splattered softly against the boy’s cheek. How could he care so much for a boy whom only days before had been nothing more than an annoying teenager who had proved useful at times? How could he open a door that he had closed long ago, promising himself that he’d never open again? How could he let himself, dare he think it, fall in love? Where were these feelings coming from?! 

It didn’t make sense. People didn’t fall in love in two days, least of all Derek. But he couldn’t deny it. His heart was breaking, was dying with the boy in his arms, and there was no one to blame but himself. It was like a cruel joke. The world was kicking him while he was down. The world had been cruel to Derek, had always taken away everyone he ever loved, so he promised never to love again. Then there’d be nothing to take away. And yet here he was again, kneeling helplessly over someone he loved, watching them die. 

The boy’s heartbeat was slowing. 

_NO!_

He couldn’t let the boy die. Not like this. Not on the dusty floor of a hunters’ warehouse. Not at the mere age of seventeen. Not in cold blood. 

His teeth sharpened, his gums salivating. The boy’s neck was perfectly exposed in his arms. It’d take but a second. And he’d be saved. 

But he’d be cursed. 

That’s what the boy had called it so many weeks ago, a _curse_. The boy didn’t want the bite. He’d made it clear. Derek had offered it to him before, when the boy had saved his life, had saved all their lives in the warehouse. He’d offered Stiles a gift, a chance to be like him, a chance to be stronger and faster and part of a pack. But the boy had refused with vigor. He didn’t want it. And Derek had promised himself when he took the position of Alpha that he’d never force the bite on someone who didn’t want it. He’d never force someone to live the life of a werewolf against their will. If he broke that oath, he was no better than his crazed uncle who had killed all those people and had bitten Scott unwillingly in the woods. God, that seemed like so long ago. 

What was worse, he thought: A lifetime of self-loathing and regret, knowing you’d killed an innocent boy, knowing you’d killed the one you loved and it was all your fault? Or a lifetime of self-loathing and regret, knowing you’d saved the one you loved but he’d never love you back because you’d given him the one thing he’d never wanted, because you’d turned him into a monster, and it was still all your fault? 

He closed his watery eyes. What kind of a choice was that? He was in agony. He had been tortured before, but not like this. 

He lifted the boy’s neck closer. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

And he bit. 


	5. The Aftermath

Isaac was racing through the rows of wolfsbane. His mouth was burning; his throat was burning; his eyes, and nose, and lungs were all burning. But he kept running.

He had lost the hunters to the south. They followed his trail for miles but he had made it easy for them, scratching against the trees when he could find them, toppling over stalks of corn, and letting out the occasional growl or howl to lead the hunters away from their compound. 

Then, he had heard the howl of the Alpha. Not an ordinary howl but the ear-splitting howl that forces other wolves into submission. There’d only be one reason for his Alpha to howl like that. He had found Erica and Boyd! 

That’s when Isaac had started being stealthy, no longer leaving trail markers for his trackers, and making his way back to the compound. The hunters would surely have lost his trail by now. But how long would they search among the fields and trees before giving up and going home? Hopefully he had bought enough time for Derek, Erica, and Boyd to escape before the hunters returned. 

He reached the light of the compound. The odor of wolfsbane was strong in the air but he could smell Derek’s scent emanating from the large barn. He ran towards the door, which hung ajar. The black Camaro was parked right out front. What the heck was Stiles doing here?! 

He was through the first door and then through the second in a flash. His eyes widened at the sight. The place was huge and reeked of wolfsbane and blood, both werewolf and human, the smells of rage and hate intertwined amongst it all. Clearly, he had stumbled upon the site of battle. And a recent one at that. 

His Alpha was nearby, crouched on the ground. Isaac rushed to his side. 

That’s when he saw Stiles. Stiles soaked in blood. Stiles soaked in blood with a bite mark on his neck. 

“What happened?!” Isaac gasped in disbelief. 

Derek didn’t answer. He just looked up at Isaac with tear-stained eyes, his scent swimming with sorrow and regret. 

** 

Scott was pacing back and forth. 

He had made it to the rendezvous point right on-time, just as planned. 

He had done everything he was supposed to. He howled exactly ten minutes after Isaac did and waited for the hunters to come after him. When he caught the scent of the oncoming hunters, he led them north, intentionally trampling over the corn plants in the fields to give the hunters something to follow. They chased him for almost an hour before Scott had changed his path, becoming stealthier, and not leaving a trail behind. 

Who knows how much longer the hunters wandered around those fields to the north, looking for his trail before finally giving up and going home. 

That’s when Scott had run due west, finding the old, broken-down barn that was supposed to be the rendezvous point. It was about 15 miles from the compound , just off the main road, and a seemingly good place for all parties to meet up before getting the heck outta Dodge. 

But Scott was the only one here. 

Five minutes went by. Then ten. Then fifteen. 

_They should be here by now!_ he thought. All Stiles had to do was turn on the car and drive for 15 minutes down the same road he was already on to get to the rendezvous point. There was no excuse for him not being here. And Isaac, surely he wouldn’t have gotten caught by the hunters. He was quick on his feet and intuitive. He should be here by now too. And Derek. Well, Derek was the one who was invading the compound. Maybe there were still a lot of hunters there and they got the better of him. Scott had trouble believing that though. The man was a beast, both literally and figuratively. He couldn’t see how the hunters would have gotten the upper hand on the Alpha. 

Well they _had_ gotten the upper hand on Erica and Boyd… 

Maybe Scott was underestimating them. Maybe they all had underestimated the hunters. Maybe it was only dumb luck that Scott was the only one of the group who got away and all his friends were now dead in ditch, cut in half, and being burned alive. 

He quivered at that thought. 

_No! They’re alive! They’re fine! They’re just a little late! You can’t fault em for that, Scott. When was the last time you were on time for anything?!_

His mind was reeling. He kept pacing beside the old barn. 

Another five minutes passed. 

Then another. 

Finally, he saw the glimmer of headlights coming down the road in his direction. He stood just out of sight as the vehicle approached, just in case. When he realized it was the Camaro, he stepped out to the edge of the road. 

The car stopped roughly to a halt just past him, tires screeching against the pavement. 

The driver’s-side door opened and Isaac hopped out. His face was marked with worry, his scent as well. 

“You’ll have to squeeze in the back with Erica and Boyd. There’s not much room,” Isaac said. 

“We found em?!” Scott asked smiling, his spirits lifting, his voice elated. 

“We did,” Isaac answered somberly. Scott didn’t understand why the guy wasn’t jumping for joy. Why wasn’t he happy? And why was he driving Derek’s car? And why were his clothes and hands smeared with blood? 

“Wait. What’s going on?” Scott asked. 

“No time! Just get in!” Isaac answered desperately. 

Scott squeezed in the back seat. One look at Boyd and Erica told him why Isaac wasn’t in a joyous mood. The two wolves were sprawled out across the seat, both unconscious and both bloody. It looked like someone had carried them in and dropped them haphazardly in the back. Maybe that explained the blood all over Isaac. Scott sat down, digging his feet under one of Erica’s outstretched legs and forcing his hips against Boyd’s, sliding the bigger wolf over so he could actually fit on the seat. He pulled the driver’s seat back into position, barely managing to click it into place against his knees as they fought for space next to the other wolves’ legs. 

Isaac hopped back in the driver’s seat and slammed the door before flooring the gas. They were flying down the country lane. 

Scott looked to the passenger seat. There sat Derek and the limp, unconscious body of Stiles curled up in his arms. His best friend was covered in blood, his heartbeat was frantic but it was thankfully there, and his breathing was hoarse and labored. And he could see the unmistakable marks of teeth across his friend’s neck. 

Derek had his friend’s head pressed against his shoulder, wrapping his arm around Stiles’ torso, holding him close. Derek’s forehead was leaning downward, gently resting against Stiles’ blood-soaked hair. Derek’s eyes were closed. His scent reeked of anguish and torment. 

“Derek! What the hell happened to him?!” Scott shouted at the older wolf. He didn’t care if he was the Alpha. Scott needed answers. 

The Alpha didn’t move, nor did he respond. 

“Later!” Isaac exclaimed, as they reached the exit ramp for the highway. 

** 

Derek clutched the body of the boy in his arms. Pressing his head against the boy’s, he kept his eyes shut tight. 

_My fault. My fault. My fault._ he thought. _All my fault._

** 

Scott stirred in his sleep. He lifted his head from where it lay on his folded arms. He had fallen asleep in the small wooden chair in the corner of the motel room, leaning his head and arms forward to rest on the small wooden table beside the chair. The rays of morning light were peeking through the curtains of the motel room’s window. 

They were a couple of hours away from the small Iowa town where the hunters lived. They hadn’t gotten off the highway until Scott and Isaac agreed they had put enough distance between them and their enemies. 

He couldn’t help but recount the night’s events in his mind. They had carried the bodies of Erica and Boyd into the first bed in the room. Isaac pressed the burnt remains of a wolfsbane petal into the wounds in Erica’s chest so her injuries would begin to heal. Boyd’s chest was slashed and his leg broken but his wounds were already starting to heal too. They laid the two wolves on the motel bed, removing their blood-stained clothes, and covered them with the bed’s blanket to rest and heal. 

They had to bind the two wolves’ hands too. Isaac had said something about the two of them going crazy, that they were dangerous. Scott didn’t really understand it, though he trusted Isaac for his word. 

Derek had carried Stiles’ limp body into the second bed in the motel room. Derek had changed his best friend’s clothes and wiped the blood from his face and chest with a damp motel washcloth. It wasn’t until Stiles was resting comfortably, his heartbeat stronger, his breathing more regular, and his injuries healing that Derek allowed Isaac to press the burnt wolfsbane petals into the Alpha’s wounds. He had two large slashes across his chest, more across him arms, and multiple bullet holes, all of which had carried the sting of wolfsbane. He winced in pain with each press of burnt wolfsbane into his wounds. But he started to heal and Scott was glad for it. 

Only then, when everyone appeared to be settled, did Derek finally agree to speak. He hadn’t spoken the entire trip to the motel. He had just sat in the passenger seat, with Stiles curled in his arms and his eyes closed tight. He recounted the whole tale of what had taken place in the barn, telling Isaac and Scott the details about the battle with the hunters, about how Erica and Boyd went crazy and attacked Derek and Stiles, all the while the two other wolves had listened intently. When the story had ended, Scott couldn’t fault Derek for what he had done. Scott would probably have done the same thing if put in the same situation. He wouldn’t have been able to watch his best friend bleed out and die in his arms. In fact, he was grateful Derek had bit Stiles. It meant his best friend would live. 

After Derek recalled his story, all three wolves were exhausted. Scott had curled up and fell asleep at the small wooden table. Isaac had grabbed a pillow and fallen asleep in the bathtub of the small motel bathroom. And Derek had pulled up the other wooden chair in-between the two beds, his eyes shifting from Erica and Boyd in one bed to Stiles in the other, seemingly refusing to sleep. 

Now, as Scott gazed across the quiet room, he saw Derek had inched his chair closer to Stiles’ bed. His head was resting gently on Stiles’ thigh, his face turned away from Scott. The Alpha’s arm was draped across the bed allowing his hand to gently cover Stiles’ hand, his fingers curled around his best friend’s fingers. Both were sleeping peacefully. The touch seemed intimate to Scott, like the gentle embrace between lovers. But Scott knew that couldn’t be right. It must just be Derek’s Alpha instinct to protect his new Beta. 

It immediately felt weird to Scott as his thoughts referred to Stiles as a Beta. It felt unnatural, not quite right. The reality was refusing to sink in. _But Stiles had been bitten. Stiles would be a werewolf. Stiles would be a werewolf in Derek’s pack._ The thoughts didn’t seem real. He pushed them out of his mind, intending to deal with them later when he wasn’t so tired. 

He looked toward Erica and Boyd. Both were still asleep as well. And turning his ear toward the bathroom, he could hear the gentle inhale and exhale of Isaac’s slumber. 

Yawning tiredly, Scott laid his head back in his hands and closed his eyes. _Everything is going to be okay_ he thought as he drifted back to sleep. 

** 

The birds were chirping. Well, they weren’t so much chirping as they were screaming. Seriously, when did birds become this loud? It was as if there were tiny birds flying around his inner ear, squawking right up against his eardrum. 

He inhaled deeply and almost coughed the oxygen right back out. The air felt dirty in his nose. It smelled of dust and mildew, of old cigarettes and dirty shoes, but there were other smells in there too. Blood, he thought, although he didn’t know blood actually had a smell. And something else burned at his nose. It was like breathing acid, making him want to cough and sneeze and vomit at the same time. _Wolfsbane_ he thought. But he didn’t know how he knew that smell by name either. The scent of wolfsbane had never bothered him before. 

And that’s when the memories came flooding back to him. Wolfsbane. Wolves. Hunters. Guns. Shooting. Fighting. Bleeding. Falling. 

His pulse quickened. His eyes snapped open. The brightness of the room was nearly blinding. Rays of light flooded into the dingy motel room and he could see the spectrum of the rainbow in each beam of piercing light. His eyes took in the entirety of the room. He could make out each individual stain on the dirty bedspread covering his body from the waist down. He could count each scuff mark on the walls, could make out each grain of wood along the door, each fuzzy string in the carpet, each water stain on the old shower curtain that was visible through the cracked bathroom door. His eyes took in the room like his old eyes never could, seeing everything in more perfect clarity than he knew was possible. 

Enhanced hearing. Heightened sense of smell. Superior vision. Stiles knew what it all meant. He knew it but he refused to say it. He refused to even think it. 

Finally, his eyes came to rest on the face of the young werewolf sitting in the corner. He had heard the boy’s heartbeat. He had smelled the boy’s scent, an indescribable mixture of licorice and fresh cut grass but also something more animal. He almost thought of a _dog_ but that seemed too cliché. And now he was looking into the eyes of his best friend. His friend’s face was a cross between worry and relief. Scott was on the edge of his seat, like he would jump to Stiles’ side in a heartbeat if Stiles decided to freak out or more accurately _wolf out_. 

“So…?” Stiles asked, not really sure what to say. What was there to ask? What wasn’t there to ask? 

“Yea,” Scott answered. It was only one simple word but it held all the confirmation in the world. The tone, the demeanor, the sigh. It was true, then. Stiles _was_ a werewolf. 

“Where are the others?” Stiles asked. The room seemed surprisingly empty but he could smell the lingering scents of the werewolves who must have been here not long before he woke up. 

“There’s a diner across the street,” Scott replied. “Derek thought it best if not everyone was here when you woke up. He thought it might be overwhelming.” Scott’s eyes seemed to tell it all. They were filled with remorse and joy, like he was looking at Stiles for the first time, like he thought he would never look at Stiles alive again and here he was, hardly able to believe his own eyes. And how did Stiles get all that from a look in the boy’s eyes? Being a werewolf was weird. 

“Overwhelmed….” Stiles mouthed the word to himself. Was he shocked? Yes. Was he surprised he was still alive? Yes. The last image he had before everything went black was a toothy, clawing shewolf hurtling towards him. He didn’t think there’d be any coming back from that. But was he overwhelmed? No. He would handle this as he handled every other challenge in his life. Head-on with a healthy dose of sarcasm and wit. Or maybe he’d just go insane, submit to his inner wolf, and maul the townsfolk. You know, one or the other. 

“So…uh…now what?” Stiles asked because really, what did he do now that he was a werewolf? Just go about his business as usual? Was there some kind of secret nighttime initiation ceremony welcoming him into the pack? Wait, was he a member of the pack? Or was he like Scott, just a loose affiliate? And yea, he really shouldn’t ask himself questions because each question seemed to lead to three more and if he kept this up, he would go insane. 

“Well…” Scott replied. “If you’re hungry, we can get something to eat. Or I can go get something and bring it back if you’re not up for going out. Or you could shower if you feel dirty. Or go back to sleep if you’re tired. Whatever you want, really.” Scott’s voice was fast and rambling. Stiles thought he sounded more like Stiles than Scott. The boy’s voice was tinged with worry too, like he was afraid of what Stiles would do. And why would Scott be afraid of Stiles? They were best friends. Stiles would never try to hurt Scott. Not intentionally at least. Although, when Scott had turned, he had tried to attack Stiles on at least two separate occasions. And there his mind went, racing from here to there. At least some things never change. _Focus_ , he thought to himself. 

“I think I could get some food,” Stiles replied because his stomach did feel rather empty. His hand rubbed over his abdomen and then up to his chest. And hadn’t there been claw marks there? Now it was smooth and untarnished. His hand moved to his thigh. No pain, no arrow hole. _Guess I’ve got that whole super healing powers thing going on now_ , he thought. 

Scott’s mood had changed. Apparently leaving the room wasn’t the answer he’d been looking for. 

“I won’t wolf out and kill anyone. Don’t worry.” Stiles said. 

“It’s not that easy to control, you know,” Scott replied. 

“Maybe not for you,” Stiles retorted. The words felt harsh coming out of his mouth and he sensed the twinge of irritation and hurt in the other boy’s scent. And how was it that he could _smell_ emotions? And yet there it was, clear as day. Seriously, being a werewolf was really weird. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” Stiles added, because he wasn’t actually trying to be a dick. “Hey, how about this? If anything goes down, you have my permission to cut and/or bite my arms off. Okay, Wolfy?” 

“Deal!” Scott replied. 

At least he could regrow dismembered limbs now. That was a plus. They stepped out of the motel room into the open air. The smell of earth and car exhaust and grease hit Stiles’ nose. This was going to take some getting used to. 

**

The diner smelled WONDERFUL. 

Stiles was smelling eggs, sausage, bacon, French toast, pancakes, strawberries, blueberries, bananas, hash browns, syrup, butter, and the list went on and on. He sniffed at the air greedily, each breath smelling more spectacular than the last. 

“Uh… dude,” Scott said as he nudged Stiles in the arm. “We’re kinda in public. Could you stop sniffing _everything_?” 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s okay. The smells kinda blow your mind, don’t they?” 

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Stiles answered. 

“C’mon. The gang’s got a table in the back.” 

Stiles followed Scott to the long table in the back of the restaurant where sat Derek, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. They took the two empty seats at the end of the table, all four of the other wolves not taking their eyes off Stiles as he sat down. 

“I’m fine,” Stiles said to the eight eyes that refused to look away even after he had taken his seat. 

No one seemed convinced but Isaac smiled at him. 

Stiles picked up his menu, scanning the list of breakfast foods and trying to ignore the gazes of the members of the pack. 

After deciding on the “Lumberjack Breakfast” because it came with bacon, sausage, _and_ ham alongside eggs, hash browns, and toast and damn did a plate full of meat sound delicious right now, he lowered his menu and looked around the table. 

Isaac, to his immediate left, seemed genuinely happy. He smiled at Stiles again and gently patted him on the shoulder. Derek was on Isaac’s other side. Sure, Stiles had looked at the man a thousand times before but now, looking at the older man now felt completely different. He felt respect for the guy, and not the usual “he can knock my teeth out so I’d better be careful” kind of respect but more like a profound respect, loyalty even. Like, if Derek asked him to jump off a bridge, he’d do it, no questions asked. And there was a sense of duty there, to listen, to obey, to protect. And surely that must be the power of the Alpha affecting him. So maybe Stiles _was_ a part of Derek’s pack now? 

But Derek’s face seemed… gloomy. Yea, gloomy was the word. Filled with regret but also relief and also regret for feeling relief. And Derek was looking at him with sad eyes. It felt weird to Stiles. Those weren’t the right eyes. Where were the glaring, irritated eyes he was used to? Where was the old Derek? 

Erica was sitting across from Derek and her face was pure regret. She eyed Stiles warily and wait, was she on the brink of bursting out into tears? Stiles thought so. Stiles guessed she remembered attacking him. He certainly remembered it. And why had she attacked him anyway? She obviously regretted it now so why’d she do it in the first place? She had seemed completely psycho at the time and yea, she’s always been a little eccentric and bitchy since becoming a wolf but last night had been different. She had been different. And yea, too many unanswered questions. 

Boyd was to Erica’s left. He eyed Stiles with caution. He, like Scott, must be convinced that Stiles was going to wolf out and kill everyone in the restaurant. And maybe he was going to devour every bit of bacon in the restaurant because God was he starving! But he wasn’t going to kill anyone. He felt confident in that. 

Then, there was Scott directly across from him. He seemed happier now. Like maybe having his best friend be a werewolf too was the coolest thing in the world. Like maybe they’d be closer now than ever before. Stiles smiled at the thought. He wasn’t going to be the Robin of the friendship anymore. 

And that was it. A table of six werewolves about to order breakfast. Completely normal, right? 

** 

Breakfast was amazing. Stiles couldn’t believe how much better food tasted on a werewolf’s palate. His fork couldn’t shove the food into his face fast enough! The other wolves laughed as they watched Stiles inhale his food like he hadn’t eaten in years. Stiles thought he even saw a smirk brush over Derek’s face, if only for a moment. 

Stiles left the restaurant feeling full and satisfied. The six of them approached the black Camaro that had once been shiny and perfect but now looked dirty and unkempt, in need of a good wash. 

“Uhh… we might have a problem,” Stiles said. “Five seats, six butts.” 

“Oh yea...” Scott said. “That’s not good, is it?” 

Five minutes later, Stiles found himself squished in the backseat alongside Scott, Isaac, and Erica. Derek was the driver, per usual, and Boyd got the front seat because he was the biggest of them and least able to squeeze in the back with three other people, an argument Stiles still thought held little ground. 

They hit the road and were soon back on the highway heading west. 

The scents of all the wolves in such close quarters felt thick in Stiles’ nose. He wondered if this was what the others had to deal with all the time. It wasn’t unpleasant, just strong and unyielding. With each breath, there it was, the mixture of all their scents. The scents felt calming though and he almost thought to describe the scents as feeling “homey” but that wasn’t right. Home was back in Beacon Hills with his dad and his room and his comfy sofa and his pizza rolls. 

Stiles decided to put adjectives to each of their scents because it was a long road ahead and no one was talking so Stiles needed to amuse himself somehow. But the task seemed more challenging than he initially considered. It was difficult to actually assign words to the way each other wolf _smelled_. He’d breathe in, trying to focus on one wolf’s scent, but usually the only word that would come to mind would be that wolf’s name. He’d breathe in Erica. It smelled like Erica. He’d breathe in Isaac. It smelled like Isaac. And so on. It was maddening. 

Finally, he was confident he’d finalized his list. They all had a hint of animal to their scents, a touch of canine that told Stiles instantly they were werewolves. But after that, they each also had some other “flavors” to their scents that was unique to each wolf. Flavor might not be the right word but there was something about describing a person’s scent that sounded crazy to begin with so “flavors” would have to do. 

Scott he already had pinned down. The guy smelled like a mixture of licorice and fresh cut grass. Why? Who knows, but the words seemed to fit so Stiles went with it. Isaac was next. He was apples and hickory. Again, who knows why but the words felt fitting. Then, there was Erica who smelled sweeter, like raspberries and aloe vera. Next, there was Boyd who Stiles decided was oak and cinnamon. Last was Derek. His scent was the toughest to pin down but he finally thought he had it. The man smelled warm like freshly baked doughnuts but also coarse like a shot of whiskey and there was a touch of leather there too. Of course there’d be a hint of leather, the guy rarely went anywhere without that black leather jacket. 

Stiles was surprised at how long his little smelling game had lasted. They’d been in the car for over an hour by the time he’d finished. Derek was focusing on the road ahead and Boyd was staring lazily out his window. Isaac was staring blankly ahead, Scott’s eyes were closed, and Erica seemed to be lost in thought. Stiles’ mind was wandering again. He had too many unanswered questions. And yet no one seemed eager to deliver the answers. 

Maybe they had all cleared the air while Stiles was still asleep but he still had a lot of questions and he’d be damned if he was going to sit here forever in silence without getting some of them answered. So he spoke. 

“So… just wondering, what was up with the whole Erica and Boyd trying to kill me and Derek thing? Seems a little off-putting if you ask me.” 

The entire car seemed to tense up at his words and Scott’s eyes shot open but Stiles didn’t care. He deserved answers. Hadn’t he earned them? 

Erica was almost immediately in tears. 

“Stiles! I’m so sorry! It wasn’t me, I swear!” she gasped through her sobs. “It was them, the hunters! They gave us this serum. It was wolfsbane, but stronger, more concentrated. They injected us with it. It made us go completely insane. It makes you go full-wolf immediately but it’s different. It’s not the normal wolf. It’s just anger and rage and…. and…. and… just pure evil. And it takes over everything. It doesn’t distinguish friend from foe. It just wants to kill. To kill anything in sight. I’m sorry Stiles! I’m so so sorry!! I didn’t want to….” Her voice trailed off as she continued to sob, wiping tears from her face with her wrists. 

Isaac put a hand on her thigh, squeezing it comfortingly. Stiles couldn’t help but feel bad. She was obviously distressed and her scent was pungent with sorrow and remorse. 

“It’s okay, Erica. I believe you. You didn’t mean to,” Stiles said, because what else could he say? The girl was having a breakdown here. “I’m okay,” he added. “Really.” 

She sniffled and wiped her eyes again. The tears seemed to be slowing down. 

“But that doesn’t sound like your average everyday wolfsbane.” Stiles said. 

“It’s not,” Boyd said. “It’s a very specific subspecies. And the serum can only be made from the stamen of the plant. That’s why they have to grow it in such large amounts. They have to grind down the tiny stamens to a powder and then boil it to make the serum. A field’s worth of crop yields them only about a cup of the serum. We saw them do it. It was very labor-intensive. But obviously effective.” 

Well, that was one of Stiles’ questions answered. Only about a thousand to go. 

“Okay. Then tell me, how’d you guys run into the hunters in the first place?” Stiles asked. 

Erica was still fighting back tears. Isaac put his arm around her. Boyd answered. 

“We had stopped at a rest stop on the interstate to get some lunch. We were eating in the food court when I picked up the scent of wolfsbane. Erica said my eyes flashed yellow. We thought no one had noticed but apparently we were wrong because after we had finished eating and gone back to the rental car, we were ambushed. We didn’t even see them coming. They were just suddenly there, eight of them, guns pointed at us. We had no choice but to surrender. They bound us with chains and threw us into a van. They brought us to that farm. The smell of wolfsbane was thick in the air. They used us to test their serum. They were trying to see the smallest amount they could inject and still make us go crazy. It was hell.” 

There was a moment of silence in the car when Boyd stopped speaking. It must have been terrifying what they went through, being used as test subjects, never knowing when they’d no longer be of use and when the hunters would eventually decide to kill them. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles offered. It probably didn’t mean much but it was the best he could do. 

Stiles wanted to ask what happened after he blacked out. How it had come to be that Derek had bitten him? How they had gotten away from the compound all in one piece? The questions were burning behind Stiles’ lips. And he wanted to hear the words from Derek himself. But he didn’t want to hear them here, not now, not surrounded by the entire pack. And Derek seemed to be refusing to look at Stiles at all, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead on the highway, never wavering. But he would get Derek alone and ask him. And Derek would tell him everything. He’d better. 

The mood in the car was somber. Everyone seemed to be lost in their own thoughts. Stiles gazed out the window as the Camaro continued to speed down the highway. He let his heavy eyelids fall and was soon drifting off to sleep. But one thought kept tugging at him, even as sleep took over: 

_I’m a werewolf._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this one! I love Stiles as a werewolf and tried to do his awakening justice. Let me know your thoughts and comments below!


	6. The Meeting

The moon shone bright overhead as Derek continued along the interstate. It was well past midnight. The soft tunes from the radio and the gentle rocking of the cruising vehicle had put all the little wolves to sleep. The headlights of oncoming cars provided waves of light over the pups in the back seat, all snuggled up against each other, sleeping calmly.

Any other time, it would make Derek smile to see his pack warm and safe like this but tonight he was too filled with confusion and regret to smile. Try as he might, he couldn’t help himself from glancing at Stiles through the rearview mirror every minute or so, following the smooth contour of his cheek or watching the gentle flickering of his dreaming eyes beneath closed eyelids. This was in absolute contrast to when the boy had been awake and Derek had forced himself to look anywhere except at the newest addition to his pack. 

What could he say to Stiles? Sorry I ruined your life? Sorry I bit you even though I knew you didn’t want it? Sorry I put you in harm’s way in the first place? 

No, he couldn’t bring himself to say any of those things but he knew he would have to speak to the boy at some point. He may be putting on a façade of being “okay” now but Derek knew it was just a matter of time before the other shoe dropped. Eventually, the reality of everything would catch up with Stiles and he would hate himself, would hate Derek, would hate it all. He was now involved in a world he knew very little about, though he may think otherwise. Now the boy was dangerous. And the next full moon was only a week away. He would have to learn control. And Derek would have to teach him. Because the boy was his responsibility now. And because he cared for the boy. 

Derek had been avoiding that train of thought all day but now it was at the forefront of his mind. He _cared_ for the boy. When Stiles had been lying on the cool pavement, moments from death, Derek had nearly lost himself. His heart had nearly been shattered. 

But how had this happened? The question tugged at his conscience. Derek had given up on love long ago. And as for loving _Stiles_ of all people, how had that happened? The problem wasn’t that Stiles was a guy, although it had certainly come as a shock initially that he would have such strong feelings for a man and not a woman. Derek knew that to a werewolf, love was much deeper than just physical attraction and was based so much more on instinct and trusting one’s inner wolf to find the right mate. He knew that often meant falling in love with someone you didn’t initially expect, like perhaps falling in love with a guy when you always pictured yourself with a gal. Or as in Derek’s case, falling in love with a guy when you always pictured yourself ending up alone. That wasn’t what really bothered Derek, though. It was the speed of everything. Even among wolves, love at first sight was rare. Courtship was traditional. Love took time. It took building a foundation. It took time for one’s inner wolf to really and fully trust another person, to be sure of its choice in a mate before solidifying a commitment. 

Three days ago, his feelings for Stiles were basically nonexistent and then one road trip and two dreams later, Derek can’t stop thinking about the boy. But it was more than that. Derek felt connected to the boy, in a way he couldn’t describe or explain. What was happening to him? _Was_ he in love? Or maybe was the prolonged exposure to wolfsbane screwing with his brain? 

Well, it didn’t really matter because Stiles didn’t love him back. Stiles had never shown the tiniest bit of romantic interest in Derek. His scent didn’t taste of arousal when they were together. His eyes didn’t light up at the sight of him. Up until a few weeks ago, the boy had been obsessed with the Martin girl. And Derek couldn’t be mates with someone who didn’t want to be his mate back. So the questions swirling in his head didn’t really matter. He would stifle his feelings and teach Stiles to be a wolf. After all, he had always been good at suppressing his true feelings. He’d welcome the boy into his pack. He’d show the boy that being a wolf was not the equivalent of being a monster. 

And maybe one day the boy would forgive him. 

Pressing harder on the gas pedal, Derek continued speeding into the night. 

** 

The return trip was pretty uneventful, and it went faster too since they drove straight through the night, only stopping for food and gas. It was late evening on the second day of the trip when the black Camaro rolled past the wooden road sign welcoming them back to Beacon Hills. 

Stiles climbed out the back seat, reaching his arms to the sky, twisting his wrists and his spine, delighted at the small cracking noises in his joints as he loosened his stiff bones and muscles. The other werewolves piled out of the car behind him, stretching and yawning, glad to be out of the cramped back seat of Derek’s car. 

The Hale house loomed a few yards away, his blue jeep resting comfortably where he had left it. The sight of his jeep made him happy. It may not be as new or as shiny or as fast as Derek’s Camaro but it was his and he loved it. 

The sound of Derek’s voice pulled Stiles’ attention. “Pack meeting,” the Alpha said. “Tomorrow at dusk. Scott, Stiles, that means you too.” 

Scott nodded. Stiles saluted the older wolf, his smirk mocking. 

And then they were heading their separate ways. Stiles and Scott walked to the blue jeep. Isaac was walking up to the Hale house. Stiles guessed he was staying there with Derek now, not having a home to call his own anymore. And Derek was heading back to his Camaro with Erica and Boyd, apparently giving the two Betas a ride home. 

Stiles started up his jeep, the roaring engine pounding in his ears. He coursed down the bumpy forest road, his newfound wolf vision seeing farther and more clearly into the night than his jeep’s headlights could illuminate. Turning back onto the paved road, he raced towards the town, feeling completely at ease even though he was well over the speed limit. The minutes passed and they were at the end of Scott’s driveway. 

“You gonna be okay, man?” his friend asked, reaching for his bag from the backseat. Stiles was irked at the question. Scott had asked him if he was “okay” at least seven times in the past two days. The question was losing all meaning. 

“You mean am I gonna freak out and maul my poor, unsuspecting father?” 

Scott’s eyes dropped. 

“It’s fine. It’s fine.” Stiles consoled. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” 

His best friend got out of the car and began the walk up to his house. Stiles floored the gas. 

**

Derek watched the blue jeep fade into the distance, his hand resting on the outstretched door of his black Camaro. His black beauty needed a good cleaning, inside and out. 

A hand on his shoulder pulled his attention. He turned his head to meet Erica’s eyes, her face soaked with hesitation and worry. Boyd was beside her, their fingers intertwined. The boy’s scent was filled with caring and concern for the girl by his side. Derek had sensed the subtle connection between his two pups weeks before but this open display of affection nullified any doubts. 

“Derek….” Erica started, her voice trailing. “We just….we wanted to….. to say…” Derek had never known the girl to be at a loss for words. 

“We’re sorry,” Boyd said, lifting the burden off the girl. His calming hand squeezed tighter against hers. “We owe you our lives. We owe you our loyalty. We’d be dead if not for you. Thank you.” His words were simple but genuine. Derek could feel the difference in their relationship. The boy respected him now. So did the girl. He had their loyalty. The wolf under his skin purred with approval. It felt good to have the respect of his Betas. It felt right, like puzzle pieces finding their place. 

“Pack protects pack,” he said. But it was really more than that to Derek. He had originally chosen the three outcast teenagers for his pack because they were like him, unattached and uncaring, loners in their own right. He had needed a pack, had needed Betas to protect his newly acquired position as Alpha, but he didn’t need anything more from them than that. He didn’t need close relationships. He didn’t need close friends. And he didn’t plan on making any. Becoming too attached was just a way to let yourself get hurt. He had learned that the hard way. _She_ had taught him that. And he had vowed never to weaken himself in that way again. But this trip had changed Derek. His heart had softened. He had let the ragtag group of teens get under skin. This was more than just his pack. This was his family now. 

And he would look after his family. 

** 

Stiles lied in bed. Curling up beneath his old sheets felt so familiar and yet everything was so different. Alone with his thoughts, he couldn’t keep them from nagging at him. His life would never be the same. He was a werewolf now. _A freaking werewolf!_

It didn’t feel real. Maybe it was because he hadn’t _actually_ wolfed out yet. He thought of all the near misses when Scott had been turned. Too much emotion and not enough control and Scott was all teeth and claws and shining golden eyes. But not Stiles. There had been no close calls, no flashes of rage leading to his wolfy bits poking out all over the place. It made him wonder. Maybe he was a defective wolf. Maybe his wolf brain wasn’t quite right, much like his human brain. It wouldn’t be that much of a surprise, would it? Nothing was ever black and white with Stiles. 

He pulled his hand up to his face, eyeing closely the curves of his fingertips and following the edges of his fingernails. Even in the darkness of night, he could make out each crack in the skin with perfect clarity. Somewhere in there, hidden beneath the pale, soft skin of his human flesh, were the sharp claws of his wolf. He focused on each finger in turn, bending each appendage to his will, trying to force the change. He needed to see, if only for a moment, the dark pointed claws of the wolf. He needed to feel the flash of pain as the sharp claws pierced their way out. He needed something. Something to tell him this was real. 

But nothing happened. His pale, human fingers remained unchanged and taunting. 

But it was _real_ , wasn’t it? His hearing, his sight, his sense of smell, they were all infinitely more perceptive. He could smell emotions and hear lies. That had been his favorite trick so far. He had come home to meet his father, the lingering smells of at least three kinds of fast food still hanging in the air. 

“You didn’t use my absence as an excuse to pig out on burgers and fries, did you, Dad?” he had asked. 

“Of course not,” his father had said but Stiles had known instantly it was a lie. The way his dad’s heartbeat bounced, ever so slightly, a subtle tic that rang in Stiles’ sensitive ears. A minor dilation in his father’s pupils, a small upturning at the corners of his lips. They were small details that any human would miss entirely. But to Stiles, to the new Stiles, they were like blinking red traffic lights screaming _Lie, Lie, Lie_. 

It should have been proof enough. It should be enough for Stiles to know he was a werewolf now. He wasn’t fully human, wasn’t fully wolf, but rather some intimate combination of the two. But still he needed to see it. He needed visual evidence. 

His eyes drifted to the open window, instinctively finding the yellow glow of the moon. The golden sphere _pulled_ at him, called to him. It could have been shouting his name. Scott had tried to describe the sensation to Stiles once before, back when Stiles was still human. 

“It’s like a phone in your hand and it’s ringing,” he had said. “You want to answer it because that’s your instinct. A phone rings and you answer it. But if you answer it, you become the wolf, running through the night, hunting and howling. If you focus hard enough, you can put the phone in your pocket and try to ignore it. But it doesn’t stop ringing. It’s always calling.” 

Stiles thought he understood what Scott meant. Looking up at the golden ball, he thought how nice it’d be to jump out his window and run through the night, to throw back his neck, lift his head to the sky and _howl_ , to scream loudly at the moon that was screaming at him. It would be proof. It would be the proof he so desperately needed. 

Still, he wouldn’t do it. Derek would want him to keep a low profile. 

_Derek_. 

He wanted to hate the guy. He wished he could hate him. It’d be nice to have someone to blame. 

But Stiles didn’t hate him. Derek hadn’t forced him to get out of the Camaro. Derek hadn’t made him sneak into the barn and attack the hunters. Derek wasn’t even the one who sunk his claws deep into his chest bringing Stiles to the brink of death. 

No. All Derek had done was try to keep Stiles out of harm’s way and then save Stiles’ life when Stiles had ignored him and jumped headfirst _into_ harm’s way. And try as he might, Stiles couldn’t fault Derek for that. 

Sure, Stiles had expressed an intense disinterest in becoming a werewolf in the past. But he wasn’t seconds from death back then. And now that the deed had been done, it seemed much favorable to dying an early death in a pool of his own blood. And Stiles didn’t even want to think of what would happen to his father if he had died. He’d be alone in the world with only the fading memories of his wife and son to keep him company. His father was a strong man, but not strong enough to live out his life all alone. 

His brain tried to pose a counter-argument, his thoughts battling each other within the constraints of his mind, as they often did. It _was_ Derek’s impulsive, shoot-from-the-hip plan that had put Stiles in danger in the first place. If the man had listened to Stiles and let him come up with a plan, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Try as his brain might, though, the argument seemed half-hearted, a desperate attempt of some part of his psyche to place blame where it didn’t belong. 

No. He didn’t hate Derek. 

He closed his eyes. Waves of sleep overcame him as a gentle breeze brushed over his skin, the soft scents of the trees and earth entwined with subtle traces of doughnuts and whiskey and leather. 

** 

Derek switched off his headlights as he rolled to a stop in front of the quiet house. Focusing his hearing, he could detect the two heartbeats inside, both strong, both steady. One more than the other, however, called to Derek. The soft pitter-patter pulled at his attention, pulled at his inner wolf, even rivaling the pull of the moon above. 

He looked up at the second floor window that had been left half-ajar, its curtains gently flowing against the breeze. Derek could scale the wall and be through that window in seconds should the need arise. 

_Need_. 

He sat for a few more moments, quietly breathing, his senses at ease. 

And then he was off into the night, speeding towards his real destination, to the house of a different werewolf. 

** 

The summer sun shone brightly as Stiles awakened. It felt nice to wake up in his own bed again. 

He entered the kitchen, the scent of the eggs and bacon his father had made for breakfast before work still hanging in the air. His stomach growled. A quick step to the freezer revealed the supply of pizza rolls had been restocked. He smiled greedily as he outpoured a collection of the frozen morsels onto a plate. 

Less than ten minutes later he found himself collapsed on the couch, gently rubbing his full stomach, with the taste of cheese and meat and dough lingering on his tongue. It was good to be home. 

He heard the repetitive clankety-clank of the old bicycle as it turned onto his street. He didn’t even have to strain his ears to hear the sound of the bike collapsing on his front lawn or the steps of its rider as he made his way up the porch. The doorbell rang, its high-pitched chime irritating Stiles’ ears. 

Opening the door revealed that which Stiles already knew, Scott had arrived. 

“Ready to put your skills to the test?” his friend asked, twirling a lacrosse stick in his hand. 

“Hell yeah,” Stiles responded, racing to his room to grab his gear. If there was one positive aspect to this whole scenario, it would be that he should finally be able to keep up with Scott on the lacrosse field. 

The boys drove to their favorite practice field, setting up the practice net, and taking position. 

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got!” Scott shouted from the net. 

Stiles held the lacrosse stick in his hands, giving it a quick twirl. He scooped up the ball where it lay at his feet. He ran a few steps, his feet gripping the dirt perfectly, his balance unwavering. He brought back the stick and flung it forward, letting the full force of his muscles pack momentum into the swing. The ball flew from his stick like a bullet from a gun, racing towards the boy in the net. 

Scott didn’t miss a beat. As fast as the ball had come, it was scooped into the basket of Scott’s stick and with a quick flick was flying back in Stiles’ direction. He recognized the superhuman speed at which Scott had thrown the ball back but it didn’t seem superhuman to Stiles. Time seemed to slow as he watched the ball float in the air right at him. His muscles reacted instinctively. His stick moved and he had snatched the ball from its course. A step, a thrust, and a throw sent the ball flying back at Scott with more force than before. 

Scott’s eyes flashed gold as he scooped up the racing lacrosse ball midair and fired a bullet back at Stiles. The ball was coming fast, almost too fast. _Almost_. Stiles leapt and reached, the basket of his stick encountering the ball just in time. The frayed edges of the basket’s strings gave way and many of them tore at the pressure of the impact. The ball ripped through the basket, losing little momentum as it flew across the field, finally landing in the grass many yards away. 

“Dude!” Stiles yelled, “C’mon! Now I gotta restring!” 

“Better do it quick,” his friend answered. “I’m just getting warmed up!” 

They spent most of the afternoon tossing the ball, running through drills, and testing Stiles’ newfound agility and strength. It turned out, much to Stiles’ annoyance, that when Scott really put his wolf skills to the test, he was still faster and stronger. He could fling the ball just out of Stiles’ reach, leaving him diving into the dirt. He could run in one direction, twist towards another, and sneak the ball past Stiles into the net. But Stiles still got some good shots in too, and with each respective score, the other wolf would increase his intensity in an attempt to reciprocate. 

They laughed as they packed up their gear, Stiles having burned through the last remaining set of spare strings for his stick. They had just enough time to head back to Stiles’ house, grab a couple of quick showers, and eat dinner with Stiles’ dad before it was time to head to Derek’s place. 

Stiles told his father that he was heading over to Scott’s and would be sleeping over. It was another lie, and Stiles still hated lying to his dad, but he couldn’t exactly tell the man that he was heading for the old Hale house at this time of night. He and Scott hopped into the jeep and drove along the back country roads that led to the Hale house as the sun sank against the western sky. 

** 

Stiles and Scott arrived at about the same time as Erica and Boyd. A few quick hellos and the four teens stepped onto the porch and entered the house. Walking into the living room, two bright lamps lit the space. It was a nice change of pace after the dreary candles that had been there last time Stiles was here. 

A couple of old couches had been moved to the center of the room. They were hardly homey but they weren’t absolutely filthy and it was better than standing he supposed. Isaac was already there, seated on the end of the green sofa. He smiled as they walked in. Scott sat down on the couch next to Isaac, clapping his shoulder as he did so. Stiles sat down beside Scott, resting his arm on the old armrest. 

Erica and Boyd sat down on the other couch in the room, a dusty pink sofa that had certainly seen better days. Their legs touched as they sat side by side. Boyd’s hand twitched where it rested on his thigh, as if he was going to instinctively lay it atop the thigh of the girl right beside him but suddenly decided against it. There was no scent of arousal or affection in the air and nothing in the two wolves’ faces to confirm his suspicions but Stiles would bet money there was something going on there, perhaps a blossoming young relationship that neither wolf was ready to announce to the world. He eyed them for a few more seconds before logging the notion and looking away. 

Footsteps announced the two wolves coming down the stairs before anything else. Derek entered the large living room first, his uncle Peter at his heels. Derek took his place in front of the old, wrecked fireplace, standing tall with arms crossed. Both couches were pointed there, Stiles assumed not by chance. Peter stood a few steps to Derek’s left, also refusing to sit. 

Stiles’ eyes met those of the Alpha, cool hazel-greens locking with his own bright coppers. The Alpha gave him a slight nod, his face unchanging, before moving his gaze over the other wolves in the room. 

The front door opened again and two more bodies entered the room. Stiles turned his head to see Jackson and Lydia passing by. Jackson looked at him inquisitively, obviously questioning why Stiles was even here. Lydia gave him a warm smile which he returned. He couldn’t help but inhale as she passed, registering her scent but catching more of her floral perfume than anything else. He searched her face and scent for emotion, digging for arousal, affection, lust, attraction, or anything that might suggest Lydia’s secret, undying love for Stiles. But he found nothing except quiet anxiety that she was desperately trying to hide behind the disguise of a raised chin and pursed lips. She probably still wasn’t used to being in a room full of werewolves, any of whom could tear her apart in an instant. And that included Stiles now, didn’t it? He shuddered at the thought. 

Derek glared at Lydia as she stepped toward the empty seat on the pink couch and sat down gracefully beside Erica. His eyes didn’t fade to red but Stiles could feel a flash of hate surround the Alpha before the wolf regained his composure, his stance suddenly emotionless once again. Even with Stiles’ werewolf mojo, reading the Alpha’s emotions often proved next to impossible. The guy could put up some sort of firewall that blocked the rest of the world from getting in. Stiles would have to ask him how he did that. The skill could prove useful. In any case, Stiles guessed that Lydia hadn’t been invited to tonight’s little powwow and that’s why Derek had been staring daggers. But the Alpha didn’t comment and Jackson took his place standing beside the pink couch, his dangling fingers finding those of Lydia’s on the armrest and interlocking. 

All eyes rested on Derek as he began to address the pack. 

“Our pack was attacked,” the Alpha began. “Two of our own were captured and tortured by a family of hunters operating out of Iowa.” 

_Duh_ , Stiles thought to himself but this was probably more for the benefit of Peter, Jackson, and Lydia, who were not on the trip. 

“They were members of the Fangher clan, a group of hunters as old as the Argents but without the constraints of a moral code. They’re originally of German descent and they’ve been enemies to our kind for centuries.” 

_Oh, that’s new_ , Stiles thought. Maybe he should be paying attention after all. 

“Isaac, Scott, Stiles, and myself were able to rescue Erica and Boyd without harm, but not without consequence. Stiles….” The Alpha paused. “Stiles was attacked.” Erica’s eyes met his own. They held a shimmer of guilt. Apparently she still blamed herself. 

“The only way to save his life,” Derek continued. “was to give him the bite.” All eyes shifted to Stiles. Peter smiled greedily, Lydia’s face was horror, and Jackson glared with hate but then again, that was Jackson’s usual when it came to Stiles. 

“He is now the newest member of our pack. Treat him well. And speaking of new additions, Scott has accepted his place as a permanent Beta in this pack.” That was more news to Stiles. Apparently Scott and Derek had had a discussion without Stiles’ knowledge. Up until now, Scott had always kept himself separate from Derek’s pack, refusing to be controlled or dominated by the older wolf. Stiles thought he shouldn’t be surprised, though. He couldn’t picture Scott sitting on the sidelines while Stiles joined Derek’s pack, couldn’t imagine Scott stepping back to let someone else guide Stiles as he learned to control his inner wolf. No, Scott was his best friend and wouldn’t abandon him. 

“It is unlikely our attack on the Fangher clan will be without retaliation. We invaded their territory and injured their hunters, not without reason of course, but the Fanghers have always been a vengeful bunch. They know where we are and what most of us look like. We must be prepared for an attack.” 

_Dammit_ , Stiles thought. Couldn’t this be over? Couldn’t he just have a relaxing summer? 

“Umm,” Stiles piped up. Was he allowed to interrupt? Oh well, too late now. “How do you know the hunters we fought were these _Faun..ger_ people and how is it exactly that they know where we are?” 

Stiles expected Derek’s response to be laced with hate and anger, the usual when the wolf had addressed him in the past but was pleasantly surprised when Derek answered calmly. “I recognized a pendant worn by one of the hunters, two swords piercing the crescent moon. It’s the symbol of the Fangher clan. And as for them finding us, one look at Erica or Boyd’s driver’s license after the wolves were captured would give them our location. And even if they didn’t look there, a glance at the license plate to Erica and Boyd’s rental or my own Camaro would have clued them in to California. All they’d have to do is ask around any of their allies and eventually they’d be led to Beacon Hills.” 

Stiles nodded half-heartedly. The man made sense. 

“So we need to prepare ourselves,” the Alpha repeated. “Nightly training sessions will commence starting tomorrow. All _werewolves_ are to attend.” The tone on the word _werewolves_ sounded to Stiles like a not-so-subtle hint to Lydia that she wouldn’t be welcome. Not that she’d really want to be on-location for eight fully wolfed-out werewolves practicing the best ways to rip their enemies to pieces. 

“And Stiles,” Derek addressed him directly. “The full moon is five nights away and it’s your first. You’ll meet with me individually tomorrow afternoon so I can start teaching you control.” 

_Great_ , Stiles thought. Guess he and Scott wouldn’t be playing lacrosse tomorrow. 

“Questions?” 

“Yea,” Jackson piped in. “Do you think the Argents are involved at all? Calling in back-ups maybe?” 

Scott tensed to his left. They hadn’t talked about Allison or her family of hunters in over a week. Stiles lifted his hand to give his best friend a consoling pat on the shoulder but looking over, he saw Isaac had beaten him to the punch. The other boy had his hand on Scott’s other shoulder, gripping it reassuringly. Stiles lowered his hand in defeat. Didn’t Isaac know it was Stiles’ job to comfort Scott? 

“Hunter clans tend to stick to their own, just like werewolf packs. Too much history, too much distrust. But there is little evidence either way to answer if the Argents are involved. The Argents left town earlier this week. We don’t know where to.” Derek answered. 

Scott’s head peaked up. “They’re gone?!” The emotions poured out of the young wolf, a mix of shame, sorrow, and anger. Stiles wished there was something he could do. 

“They are. But maybe not forever. Peter saw them pack up a bunch of bags and leave town three days ago,” Derek answered. Derek’s uncle nodded at the mention of his name. 

There were a few moments of silence. Satisfied the meeting was concluded, Derek spoke. 

“Dismissed.” 

The pack trickled out of the house. Upon reaching the jeep, Scott was already on his phone, his fingers texting furiously. Stiles knew the message would be for Allison. The real question was if Allison would actually respond this time. 

Stiles guessed she wouldn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this one! More action is coming up so stay tuned! Comment below!


	7. Training

A text from Derek the following morning told Stiles to meet him at the Hale house at 1:00. After getting dressed and eating lunch, he fired up his jeep and drove out to meet the Alpha.

He met Derek at the foot of the porch and followed him into the woods until they reached a small clearing a short walk from the house. The thoughts were burning in Stiles’ mind. He wanted to ask for the full story of what had happened in the barn. What happened after he blacked out? What led up to Derek giving Stiles the bite? How did they make it out of there alive? Sure, he had heard Scott’s version of the tale, a jumbled mix about Stiles lying in a pool of blood, Derek biting him, Isaac helping Derek carry a limping Boyd and Erica and unconscious Stiles back to the Camaro before racing off into the night. But Stiles wanted to hear it from Derek’s lips. He didn’t know why but he needed to hear it. 

“So….” Stiles said, his voice trailing. How should he word it? 

“Control…” Derek started, the sternness of his voice reminding Stiles why they were out here. The burning thoughts shrunk in his mind as he thought of control and training and focused on Derek’s voice. 

“…during the full moon for a new wolf is exceedingly difficult. The call of the moon will draw out your wolf, unleashing a whirlwind of rage and anger. You’ll be a danger to anyone around you. Hopefully, though, we can teach you enough control before then that you won’t kill anyone.” The tone in Derek’s voice reminded Stiles of some kind of military officer. 

“Great.” Stiles answered, although nothing about this sounded “great.” Seriously, don’t sugarcoat it or anything, Derek. 

“Let’s start by practicing drawing out your wolf and then suppressing it back down again,” Derek continued. “Go ahead and change.” 

Stiles shot the Alpha a perplexed look. 

“Just like that? Change?!” Stiles scoffed. “You get that I’ve never done this before, right?! I don’t know how to just turn it on and off!!” 

Derek sighed in aggravation. “Until you’ve mastered control, your wolf will rise easiest during periods of intense emotion, especially anger, lust, or sorrow. Anger is probably the one most likely to yield us results now. So focus on anger.” 

“Focus on anger, focus on anger…” Stiles whispered to himself, still pretty annoyed at Derek. He locked his eyes tight. What makes me angry? What makes me angry? He focused on Mr. Harris, his asshole of a chemistry teacher. He thought of all those afternoons sitting in the man’s classroom for detention, watching the minutes on the clock trickle by. The way the man laughed at Stiles’ misery. The thoughts definitely put Stiles in a sour mood but he didn’t feel any inner wolves rising beneath his skin. 

Ok, not working, not working. He thought of Jackson, instead. The guy was a complete douchenozzle by anyone’s standards. He had everything, the looks, the lacrosse skills, the popularity, but it still wasn’t enough for him. He still demanded more, still demanded the bite, and what was the consequence of that? He terrorized the town as a giant, uncontrollable lizard-man! And in the end he still got what he wanted, he became a werewolf. And he got the girl! Stiles’ girl! Well, she was never technically _Stiles’ girl_ but she should have been! How could she love Jackson over him? In what universe was that fair? 

Thinking of Lydia and unrequited love made Stiles sad, not mad. He sighed in frustration. This wasn’t working. He clamped his eyes tighter. _Anger! Anger! Get Angry!_ Yea, okay, that wasn’t working either. Surely, he must look like he was constipated. Derek probably thought he was the most pitiful werewolf he’d ever laid eyes on. He opened his eyes, defeated. 

“It’s not working,” Stiles said. 

“Obviously,” Derek replied coldly. “It figures you would make this difficult. All I had to do was say the word ‘parents’ to Jackson and he would transform instantly.” Derek’s face flashed regret, like he wished he could take those words right back, like it wasn’t Derek’s place to share intimate details on what troubled Jackson most in the world. As soon as it was there, though, the regret was gone again and Derek’s emotional firewall was back up. 

“Let’s take a more direct approach,” the Alpha said. 

Before Stiles could respond, the older man was shifting. His eyes faded to a deep red, his fingernails were growing to black claws, his teeth were lengthening to fangs, his face changing to that of the wolf. And then, hovering over Stiles, was the wolfed out Derek, not the black beast of the full Alpha, of course, but a formidable werewolf nonetheless. He stepped towards Stiles, teeth showing and claws reaching. 

Stiles took a step back, then another, and another. 

“Um, Derek….” he pleaded. “What are you doing?” 

His answer wasn’t words but a growl and the Alpha was quickening his pace, was running at Stiles. Stiles tried to turn, tried to run, but the Alpha was on him, shoving him to the ground. Face to face, Stiles stared into the red, vengeful eyes of evil as the wolf growled angrily, snarling and threatening. 

Was Derek’s plan to scare the wolf out of Stiles?! Stiles was definitely terrified but again, there was no hungry, angry wolf scratching its way to the surface. His hands were the same, his teeth the same, his everything was the same. He trembled beneath the firm grasp of the looming Alpha. Derek growled again, inching his wolfy face closer to Stiles’ as he pinned him against the grassy earth. The waves of anger and hate were seeping through the Alpha’s scent as the wolf’s hot breath washed over Stiles’ face. Why couldn’t Stiles get that angry? The guy made it look too easy. Drops of slobber were dripping from the wolf’s wet teeth and sliding down Stiles’ cheek. 

“Dude! Gross!” Stiles gasped, wanting to wipe his face but unable to move his arms from beneath the Alpha’s grip. The wolf growled again and lifted himself off of Stiles. 

“Damn!” Derek said, lifting Stiles off the ground as he wiped his face. The Alpha hadn’t changed back but the anger and hate had vanished. “I thought that would work.” 

“What exactly were you trying?” Stiles asked. 

“Threatening you, attacking you,” Derek answered. It felt weird hearing Derek’s normal voice from his werewolf face. “It should have worked. It should have triggered your fight or flight response. And for a werewolf, the choice is almost always fight....” 

“Maybe I don’t have an inner wolf. Maybe I got all the benefits of being a werewolf without any of the _wolfy_ bits…” Stiles said. It sounded good to him, perfect even. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Derek answered. “We’ll just have to be more creative.” 

“How so?” Stiles asked, not liking the sound of the word _creative_. 

Derek, still wolfed-out, lifted his head to sky, opened his mouth wide, and emitted the loudest, angriest, _wolfiest_ howl Stiles had ever heard. It echoed through the trees, piercing the air like a foghorn, traveling for miles around. 

The howl echoed in Stiles ears. His head was pounding, his blood boiling, his anger rising. His heartbeat quickened and his pulse pounded in his arteries. The air was trapped in his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He dropped to his knees when the pain started. Blinding pain in his face, in his mouth, in his hands, in his arms and legs. Everywhere. He lifted his head to the sky and screamed at the top of his lungs. Except it wasn’t a scream that came out. It was a howl. The howl of a wolf. 

He pulled himself to his feet. His enhanced sight was even sharper than before. Just glancing ahead, he could count the leaves on trees fifty yards away. He breathed deep. He could smell _everything_. He could make out the smell of minerals and the decay in the earth below, of pollen and animal dander in the air above. He could make out the scents of no less than seven woodland creatures that had passed through the clearing since morning and felt that if he wanted, he could follow each of the scents to their source. His hearing was even sharper than before too, zeroing in on sounds perfectly, from the thump of the heart in his chest to the faraway pounding of a woodpecker that he determined was a seven-second-run due west. 

He looked at his hands. Pale skin and smooth nails were now rough skin with hairy knuckles and sharp, black claws. His arms felt larger, more powerful. His legs as well. He could crush bone and tear flesh. He brought a hand to his face, coursing over the ridges of his exaggerated brow and protruding nose, over the patches of rough fur lining the sides of his face, and replacing his head of shortly-cropped brown hair with shaggy fur. He chomped his teeth, feeling the crushing weight of his fangs as they locked into place. 

_This_ was Stiles’ wolf. It was real. He was anger and rage personified. He looked to the left and right, searching for the threat. Because there _was_ a threat. There must be. He sniffed and listened. Nothing. _Where was it?!_

“That’s more like it,” Derek said. 

Another howl pierced the air, coming from the west. Stiles’ ears twitched at the sound. He didn’t know how he knew but he knew it was Jackson. A second howl from the south. That was Erica. 

Derek’s phone buzzed. Then again. And a third time. Three texts. 

Stiles focused on himself. Focused on _Stiles_. He brought his consciousness forward in his mind, fighting the pure instinct of his wolf, fighting the urge that told him to attack, to fight, to kill. The wolf fought back. It wanted to run, to howl, to attack. It wanted to be set free. But Stiles held it down. _I’m in control. I’m in control._ He told himself. His wolf growled in defiance. How long would he be in control? 

“What was that?” he said, taking control of his mouth, forcing out words over growls. “Some sort of Call of the Wild? Wolf siren?” 

“Something like that,” Derek replied. He seemed perfectly at ease controlling his wolf, his voice perfectly human but coming from the mouth of a werewolf. Stiles felt anything but at ease. He felt like he was holding a balloon underwater and it was only a matter of time before his wolf shifted and the balloon would be rising to the surface, taking control of his mind and body. 

“It’s a Call to Arms,” Derek continued. “A call to my pack signaling a threat. A Beta cannot deny the call of his Alpha. As you can see.” 

Stiles nodded. He knew there was no threat, that Derek had been tricking his inner wolf into rising, and yet he was still on edge. He wanted to bite, to claw, to kill. His wolf was reeling in mind, begging to be set free. 

“Now that we’ve brought the wolf out to play….” the Alpha was saying. “It’s time to put it away. Focus, Stiles. Concentrate. Suppress the wolf. Latch on to your human self, your human emotions, and don’t let them go. Bring them to the forefront of your mind. Become human, Stiles. Concentrate on what makes you human. _Concentrate_.” 

_Concentrate_. He closed his eyes again. _Human_. He pictured his human self, his human hands, his human face, his copper-colored human eyes. It wasn’t working! The wolf was tugging at his mind, fighting him. _Human!_ He screamed in his mind. He thought of Scott and his father. Driving his jeep to school. Microwaving pizza rolls. Sitting on the bench during lacrosse games and then getting picked to play and scoring his first real goal out on the field. Just memories, simple memories, but _human_ memories. It was working a little, or so it seemed. The wolf wasn’t fighting as much. But it was still there. He needed to push more. Watching _Friends_ reruns and _Doctor Who_ marathons. Brushing his teeth with his limited-edition _Legend of Zelda_ toothbrush. His mother. His mother who squeezed him tight. His mother who tucked him into bed. His mother who raised him to be _human_. 

He opened his eyes. He had done it, had suppressed the wolf. He looked at his hands, no claws, just his normal pale-skinned fingers. 

“Good,” Derek said, his face back to normal as well. “Again.” 

Stiles groaned. 

** 

Derek exhaled in relief as the blue jeep shrunk in the distance. Being in such close proximity to Stiles for most of the afternoon had proved itself more of a challenge than he initially expected. He had assumed in the wake of everything that had happened, the feelings he thought he had for Stiles would lessen, that everything that had happened on the trip had been a fluke, and things would go back to normal. 

But Derek found that he yearned for the boy now more than ever. His smooth, pale skin and short chocolate-brown hair, his butterscotch eyes and his warm, sweet scent. All of it drove Derek insane with lust and arousal. It would be easier, of course, if Stiles had still been human. Derek could just put on an angry face and the boy would be none the wiser. But now Stiles was a wolf and any large display of emotion would be picked up by the boy’s newfound honed senses. Luckily, though, Derek had a wealth of misery and anger in his past, enough to focus his attention away from his lustful feelings for Stiles, help him suppress his emotions, and keep the young wolf from discovering his secret. 

It was still a challenge though, especially when they had both turned. The boy made a _beautiful_ wolf. His hair growing out to become glistening chocolate fur, his eyes glowing golden as the moon, his sharp teeth and razor claws, and all on the boy’s lean, toned figure. His own wolf had been howling inside at the sight of the boy and it was all he could do to control himself. 

And he needed to control himself. Derek had always prided himself on his control. He wasn’t made a wolf, he was born one. He had lived with this his entire life. Any loss of control would be an insult to his upbringing, an embarrassment to his title as Alpha. He mustn’t lose focus. 

Derek stepped towards his house. In a few hours the pack would be here for training. He couldn’t let his situation with Stiles interfere with the pack’s preparation. The hunters would be coming and he couldn’t afford for them to get the upper hand. 

** 

Stiles felt frustrated. He was driving through the woods towards the Hale house for the second time that day. His afternoon session with Derek hadn’t gone as he’d expected. He thought he would be learning to control his wolf but after multiple attempts to bring out his wolf on his own, he sulked in the realization that he could only wolf out when Derek howled that magic “Call to Arms” howl of his that pulled his wolf to the surface. 

And once the wolf was out, it was almost as hard to put the thing back down as it was to draw out. He didn’t know how he would be ready for the full moon. Derek would have to lock him up in a cage or something because if the moon managed to pull his wolf out, he doubted he would have the wherewithal to put it back down again. It was an unsettling thought, doubly so because imagining a wolf in a cage brought back all-too-fresh memories of the night when he was turned. 

He pushed back the thoughts in his mind. Derek would stop him before he injured anyone. The Alpha had said as much at the end of their practice session this afternoon. 

Scott stirred in the seat to his right. The movement pulled Stiles from his racing thoughts. 

“So how do these things normally go?” Stiles asked. 

“Dunno,” his friend replied. “Never had a big group training session like this before.” 

Stiles nodded. He followed up with a question that had been burning in his mind since the previous night. 

“So… you’re uh… like a full member of the pack now, huh?” he started. “How’d that happen?” 

“Well,” Scott replied. “You had been turned. Derek had saved your life by doing it. I knew you’d have this whole werewolf world in front of you and you’d need my help dealing with it. So I told Derek I wanted in.” 

“And that was that?” Stiles asked. “Ask and you shall receive?” 

“Well, no, it was more than that. It was kinda weird actually. Derek wolfed out and kinda like growled at me, but not a normal growl, like some kind of Alpha growl that made me want to submit. I knew I had a choice. I could growl back and challenge or I could submit. So I lowered my head in submission. And that was… pretty much it. Things felt way different after that. Derek felt like _my_ Alpha and all the rest of you guys felt like _my_ pack.” 

“Hmm,” Stiles responded. “Well, I’m glad you did.” And Stiles meant it. He didn’t think he’d like being a part of Derek’s pack without his best friend. 

The Hale house had appeared before them. Stiles brought the jeep to a halt. 

“Here we go,” Scott said. 

“Yep.” 

They walked through the yard, around the house, and toward the small clearing that Stiles had been to earlier that day. They were the last two to arrive. As they approached, Stiles put faces to all the scents he had smelled when he first stepped out of the jeep. Derek, Peter, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, and Jackson were all there. 

“Good. Now, that we’re all here,” Derek began. “Here’s the plan for tonight. We’ll start with practicing fighting techniques. With so many young wolves, the more practice fighting we can get in before the hunters get here, the better.” A few wolves nodded in agreement. 

“So we’ll run some one-on-one fighting drills. The goal is to pin your opponent to the ground. Rules include no dismembering your opponent and no running away because we don’t have all night to chase each other around through the woods. Questions?” 

A shiver coursed through Stiles’ spine. Fighting? Stiles? He had been a werewolf for like five minutes, he couldn’t even wolf out on command, and now he somehow had to fight another werewolf?! He felt like running away right now, but oh wait, that was _against the rules!_

Stiles tried to regain his composure. He couldn’t forget that he was surrounded by a group of people that could smell fear. Better to not let everyone know that he was shaking in his boots. 

“Okay. Peter and I will go first to demonstrate. Everyone else move back to the edges of the clearing to give us some room,” Derek said. 

Stiles was glad that at least he didn’t have to go first. Maybe he would get paired up against Scott. Then at least his opponent would be someone who might go easy on him. Scott and Stiles had stepped back to the edge of the clearing. The other werewolves who weren’t fighting had done the same, giving a large open area for the training to take place. Derek and Peter each stood in the middle, a few yards of open space separating them. 

The pale moonlight bathed the scene, dimly lighting the faces of all below. Stiles glanced upward at the golden sphere, its pull at him ever present, but he suppressed the urge to howl up at it. He figured it’d be poor etiquette to howl and growl for no reason in present company. Even in the darkness, though, Stiles could make out every detail perfectly. He watched as the two men in the clearing began to shift. Derek’s claws were lengthening, his fangs exposed, his eyes a dark red, and his hair becoming a ragged, black fur. A flashback to a heaving, growling wolf staring him in the face and pressing him against the ground zipped through his mind. He shuddered at the thought. Peter had shifted as well. His features weren’t those of the Alpha wolf Stiles remembered all those months ago but he still seemed a formidable and deadly opponent nonetheless. 

The two wolves glared at each other for a moment. Alpha and Beta, nephew and uncle, locking eyes and preparing their battle stances. Stiles wondered what the signal would be for the match to start. He was answered by Peter rushing forward towards Derek, claws and teeth bared. The Beta was moving at superhuman speed, but Stiles had no trouble following his movements with his enhanced vision. 

Peter slashed outward at Derek’s neck but the Alpha avoided it easily. Derek slashed at the Beta’s back, but Peter ducked out of the way just in time. The two were both fast, slashing and biting, but neither managing to land a hit. It put the antics between Scott and Stiles on the lacrosse field to shame. Stiles watched in awe as the two wolves continued to swing at each other, jumping and lunging, slashing and ducking. Sure, Stiles was fast with his newfound wolf powers and sure, he had taken one basic self-defense course put on by one of the cops at his dad’s station but there was no way Stiles would be able to fight like these two. It was clear they had years of training and practice. Maybe this was what children did for fun when you were raised as a werewolf, spend weekends mauling each other in the backyard. 

A swipe from Peter had torn through the fabric of Derek’s shirt but Stiles could see it hadn’t broken the skin beneath. Derek countered quickly, landing a hit on Peter’s left shoulder. The scent of blood hit the air and Stiles cringed his nose. Peter growled angrily and began slashing viciously at Derek. Derek blocked the Beta easily, avoiding and blocking the sharp claws that hurled in his direction. 

Another block and Derek turned his body, slightly losing his balance as he fell back on a staggering foot. Peter didn’t waste the opportunity, swiping quickly and hitting Derek in the side. This time, the uncle’s claws met flesh, and again the scent of blood hit Stiles’ nose. Erica and Boyd were standing on the edge of the clearing opposite from where Stiles was standing. He saw the eyes of both wolves widen, clearly shocked that a Beta would be able to land even a single hit on the Alpha. Stiles felt as shocked as they looked. An Alpha should be untouchable, right? The epitome of strength and speed. But then again, Peter had been an Alpha once too. He must know about an Alpha’s weaknesses, assuming there were some. 

Derek howled, even though Stiles could see the slash marks at his side had already begun to heal. Stiles’ neck cringed at the howl. The sound made his wolf stir beneath his skin. The Alpha hurt, the Alpha in need. But he pushed the impulse down as the battle continued on. 

The wound had clearly egged Derek on. He was slashing furiously at Peter, clawing and scratching recklessly. Now Peter was the one dodging and blocking. Derek wasn’t landing a hit. After a sixth or seventh missed swipe from Derek, Peter had outstretched his foot and Derek tripped over it. In the Alpha’s stagger, Peter pounced, landing a deep, penetrating swipe of his claws into Derek’s chest. The Alpha howled as he fell to the ground on one knee and an outstretched arm. The blood was dripping from his chest to the ground. He panted heavily and howled again in pain and in anger. 

The wolf beneath Stiles’ skin was stirring again at the sound of the howl, stronger than before. His Alpha was hurt. Derek was hurt. Derek was bleeding. Derek needed him. His breathing was quickening, his pulse racing, and his body changing. He couldn’t help it. It was pure instinct. His claws had changed and his fangs were bared before he had even realized he was shifting. 

His wolf had taken over and he was running. He sprinted into the clearing, eyes locked onto his target. Peter was facing the Alpha, claws at the ready, and stance shifting for his next attack. An attack that would never come. As Peter lifted his hand back, claws itching to swipe through Derek’s kneeling body, Stiles was there, his own claws and fangs at the ready. When Peter finally realized the new threat, it was too late, Stiles was pouncing. His motions were instinct, someone else was controlling his arms and legs, or should he say _something_ else. It was the wolf. He couldn’t stop. It was too late. 

He slashed once into the other Beta’s chest, ripping fabric and flesh easily as his claws sliced through. Blood poured out of the open wounds. The sight and smell of it seemed to only encourage Stiles further. He swiped again with his other hand, tearing again through more fabric and flesh across the other man’s chest. Peter’s hands had fallen and his face was pure terror. The smell of fear in the air delighted Stiles’ nose. His wolf was enthralled. The man coughed and blood began pouring from his mouth. Peter fell to the ground but it wasn’t enough. Stiles followed the man to the ground, kneeling over his chest as he slashed again. 

The spurting liquid pushed Stiles’ wolf further into chaos. He swiped again and again, his wolf’s mouth grinning evilly as the flecks of hot red liquid spewed out with each stroke. 

Stiles lifted his arm again, sharpened claws ready to strike when the sound pierced his ears. The howl echoed through his skull, pulsing through his skin, his blood, his bones. He fell backwards, his hands gripping the sides of his face as his eyes clamped shut. When the Alpha’s howl finally ended, he managed to open his eyes. His breathing was fast and shallow, his pulse rough and tensed. He pulled his hands off his face, eyeing them carefully. His human features had returned, pale hands had replaced black claws, but that did nothing for the blood. Hot, wet liquid dribbled from his fingertips, leaking down his palms and wrists. 

Stiles stared at his hands in horror. What was happening?! What had he done?! He looked at the fallen body before him. Peter lay outstretched on the ground, his chest covered in fresh blood. The man’s breathing was shallow and irregular, his pulse erratic. Stiles crawled backwards along the ground. _What have I done? What have I done?_

Derek was at his uncle’s side in an instant. He was still wolfed out but the hate and anger in his face was gone, replaced with worry and concern. He leaned over his uncle’s body, listening to the man’s breathing and then ripping off the remains of the man’s shirt to inspect his wounds. 

Stiles didn’t even hear the other Beta approach from behind and jumped when he felt Scott’s hand on his shoulder. His best friend was crouched on the ground beside him. Stiles buried his face in his friend’s shirt as he pulled him close. He didn’t want to look at what he’d done and he couldn’t prevent the emotions from taking over. The tears were flowing before he could stop them. 

“I…. I….. I didn’t…. I couldn’t….. I didn’t mean to!!!” he wailed into the ruffled fabric. It was an accident. He didn’t even know how it happened. Everyone had warned him that his wolf would be hard to control, that he was a danger to those around him, but he didn’t listen. The threats didn’t seem real before. He thought his wolf was defective before. But now…. 

Scott was rubbing his back, trying to be comforting but comforting had never really been Scott’s forte. It just felt more awkward than anything. Stiles pulled his face from Scott’s shirt and looked back at Peter. He didn’t really want to look but he had to know, had to know what he’d done. And knowing required looking. Derek was wiping the blood from Peter’s bare chest. The Alpha seemed frantic but suddenly his tension lifted. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Derek was saying. “He’s healing. He’s healing now. It’s gonna be okay.” The words were tinged with a sigh of relief. 

Stiles sighed too. _Thank God_ , he thought. He hadn’t killed him. He hadn’t killed him! 

“Thank God,” Stiles gasped, his thoughts becoming words. 

Derek’s eyes shifted to Stiles. The Alpha was still wolfed out, his crimson eyes matching the blood spilt over his uncle’s chest. Stiles could smell the hate and rage building up within the Alpha, consuming the older wolf. He looked away, not being able to bear the Alpha’s cruel stare anymore. 

“Everyone’s dismissed! We will resume training tomorrow,” The Alpha growled. “Except _YOU_ , Stiles!” 

The tone of Derek’s voice was fierce and commanding. Only a fool would disobey. Stiles’ eyes met Scott’s as his friend stood up and began to back away. Scott’s eyes were filled with concern and maybe a twinge of regret, but he turned and walked away with Jackson and the other Betas. 

Then, only Stiles and Derek and Peter remained. Stiles could hear a pick-up in Peter’s heartbeat and Stiles could swear the man’s breathing had become more regular. Derek was right, the man was going to be okay. Stiles tried to feel relief that the man was going to live but Derek was still staring at him, his red eyes glaring hatefully. 

“YOU WILL CARRY HIM BACK TO THE HOUSE, STILES!” Derek was shouting at him. And Stiles knew he deserved it. Stiles shouldn’t have interfered. It was all Stiles’ fault for not being able to control his inner wolf. 

He stood up shakily from the ground before stepping forward towards the mess he’d created. He knew the Alpha’s glaring eyes were on him but he refused to look into them. He knelt down beside the fallen Beta, thankful that he could see the strands of muscle and skin starting to reform and close the wounds Stiles had inflicted. Stiles slid an arm beneath the larger man’s thighs and arched a second arm beneath the man’s neck. He lifted up and the body raised from the ground easily. It shouldn’t be physically feasible for a scrawny boy like Stiles to lift the heavy body of the older man but with his werewolf strength, it was no problem. 

Peter’s bloody torso curled in Stiles’ outstretched arms. Stiles stood from the ground and stepped forward, following Derek in the direction of the house. Neither of them spoke as they walked through the woods. The Alpha’s scent was still anger and hate and Stiles was sure his own scent was pure worry and regret. As the Hale house emerged in front of them, the smell of car exhaust hit Stiles’ nose. The other wolves had clearly just left. 

Stiles followed the Alpha through the backdoor, then through a hall, and then into the living room. Stiles set Peter’s unconscious body down gently onto the fluffy green sofa in the center of the room. The man’s breathing was steady again and his heartbeat was strong. _He’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay_ , Stiles told himself. 

Stiles mustered up the courage to look the Alpha in the eyes. Derek wasn’t wolfed out anymore and his eyes were back to their soft hazel-green but his face was still hard and angry. Their eyes locked and Stiles couldn’t stop the verbal diarrhea from pouring out of his mouth. 

“It was an accident, Derek! I don’t know what happened! I was just standing there and I don’t know…. you were on the ground and there was blood and something rose within me…. I don’t know how it happened but it just took over and it wasn’t me anymore…. I mean, it was me but it was my wolf. It took over my body and I was changing and before I knew it, I was running and jumping and slashing and all I wanted to do was protect you and stop Peter. And I couldn’t stop it, I was just there and I was attacking and… and… and…. Derek, I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sor…” 

The final word was cut short as Derek moved swiftly towards Stiles, backing him up roughly against the living room wall. A light cloud of dust sprang from the cracked wall as Stiles’ back banged against it. Derek had a fistful of Stiles’ shirt clenched tightly in his grip. The other hand was extended above Stiles’ head, pressing firmly into the wall. Their bodies were uncomfortably close, their heaving chests brushing into each other with each tortured breath. Stiles looked into the Alpha’s eyes; they were burning red. His panting mouth was showing the beginnings of fangs. 

Derek’s scent was hot in Stiles’ face. It was carnal and feral, the hints of whiskey and leather barely distinguishable beneath the waves of anger and fury and something else. What was that? Passion? Lust, maybe? _No_ , Stiles thought. Surely, that wasn’t lust. 

Derek’s mouth was now an inch from Stiles’, his breath hot on Stiles’ cheek. In fact, everything was hot as the Alpha’s body pressed against his. What was happening? Was this it? Was this how Stiles was going to die? Beheaded at the fangs of an angered Alpha? 

“Derek… I….. I’m……” Stiles muttered through harsh gasps. 

Red eyes turned back to hazel-green. The Alpha released his shirt and Stiles slumped back against the wall without Derek’s grip holding him up. Then, Derek had taken a step backward and his scent had changed. Stiles swore he caught the smell of regret coming from the man before the Alpha’s usual emotional firewall was back up. 

“You can go,” Derek said. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” 

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice. He scurried toward the door and hopped down the porch toward his jeep. His keys fumbled in his hand as he went to unlock the door. A turn of the ignition and a press of the pedal and he was flying down the wooded road. 

_Fuck!_

The word pretty much summed up the evening. 


	8. Threats, Perceived and Real

Stiles awoke the following morning still feeling like crap. It had taken him hours to fall asleep, his guilty thoughts spinning in his mind. Sure, Peter was going to be okay but that wasn’t any consolation to Stiles. He had lost control. He had attacked. He had almost killed. And if Derek hadn’t been there to stop him, there is no doubt that Stiles would have finished the job. The full moon was in three nights and Stiles wasn't ready. What was he gonna do?

He could try talking to Scott. His friend had sent him numerous consoling texts during the night but none of them seemed to make Stiles feel better. There was nothing Scott could really say. Sure, his friend had had some close calls but Scott had never actually attacked anyone. Scott had never had to sneak into his house covered in the blood of an innocent victim. Scott had never had to struggle for thirty minutes at the sink to wash the specks of dried blood from underneath his fingernails. 

Stiles’ phone buzzed on his nightstand. He wondered what words of consolation Scott would have for him now. He reached over and grabbed his phone but the text wasn’t from Scott. It was from Derek. 

_You still have control training. 1:00. Don’t think last night got you out of it._

Stiles sunk into his pillow. Great! Just what he freaking needed, to return to the scene of his crime, to face Derek, to practice bringing out his wolf, the very creature that had gotten him in trouble in the first place. No, none of that sounded good. None of that sounded feasible. He didn’t want to learn how to control his inner wolf. He wanted to learn how to shut down his inner wolf, to make it go away, forever. 

Stiles typed a text back, his swift fingers tapping each letter squarely in the center. 

_Not feeling well. Can’t make it._

Werewolves couldn’t detect lies via text, right? Stiles didn’t think so. Although, only an idiot would be unaware of the real reason why Stiles didn’t want to venture over to the Hale house today. The return text came back right away. 

_You’ll be here or else the reason you don’t feel well will be because I’ve ripped off all four of your limbs._

Stiles groaned painfully. Seriously, Derek? Couldn’t the guy cut Stiles a little slack? Couldn’t he realize that maybe Stiles needed a day off?! 

Stiles rolled out of bed, moaning again when he realized he only had just enough time to shower, get dressed, and eat a quick lunch before he’d have to head over to Derek’s. 

_Eff my life_ , he thought to himself. 

** 

Stiles parked his jeep in front of the old house and wondered when was the last time he drove somewhere that wasn’t the Hale residence. 

He slumped along towards the clearing in the woods, the images of the previous night’s events still fresh in his mind. He dragged his feet as he walked, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. As he approached the clearing, he caught the scent of not one, but two other wolves. The first was the coarse scent of his Alpha, the familiar hints of whiskey and leather filling his nose. The second was the scent of another Beta, one whose scent he hadn’t yet taken the time to assign “flavor” descriptors to. But he knew the scent immediately anyway. It was Peter. 

Stiles looked up as he entered the clearing, meeting first the eyes of the Alpha and second the eyes of his uncle. He tried to make his face look emotionless, to hide the guilt and anxiety and urge to turn around and run the heck right out of there. But despite his efforts, he was sure his scent was telling all his emotions to the two other wolves anyway. 

Derek spoke first, per usual. 

“Stiles, nice of you to join us. I believe you have something to say to my uncle.” The Alpha was trying his best to put on a stern face but Stiles could tell it was a visage. The man’s scent didn’t smell of anger or scolding. In fact, Stiles was pretty sure it smelt of concealed humor, like this situation was the funniest thing in the world, like watching Stiles sulk into the clearing was hilarious. And that didn’t make any sense. 

“Uh….sorry… for you know….,” Stiles began, wanting to look Peter in the eyes but finding the ground at the man’s feet suddenly intensely interesting and keeping his eyes locked there instead. 

The older wolf chuckled. “It’s okay, Stiles. Accidents happen.” 

Stiles’ brain wasn’t computing. 

“Wait, what?!” he stammered. “That’s it? Accidents happen. No harm, no foul. Just like that?!” 

Peter chuckled again. “Stiles, we’re _werewolves_. Accidental injuries come with the territory. If we all got up in arms every time we accidentally hurt one another… well let’s just say we’d be up in arms a lot.” 

A huge weight should have been lifted from Stiles’ shoulders and truth be told, he did feel a little relieved that no one was mad at him and he wasn’t in trouble but Stiles still felt troubled. He had still lost control. He had still attacked without provocation. He was still dangerous. 

“So, now that that’s out of the way,” Derek said. “Back to teaching you control. In light of last night’s _events_ , Peter and I have developed a theory. Peter….” 

Derek’s uncle smiled wickedly. He raised his right hand and suddenly pearly fingernails had lengthened to thick, black claws. The sharp daggers glistened in the sunlight. Stiles watched them nervously, not really sure what was going to happen next. Were those claws meant for him? Some sort of an “eye for an eye” kind of deal? 

Peter’s hand moved like lightning. One second it had been extended in the air, sharp claws glistening, and the next second it was deep in Derek’s shoulder, centimeters away from the cotton of the man’s grey wifebeater. The Alpha winced in pain, his face grimacing. 

Stiles’ reaction was instinct. He moved against his own will. He had stepped forward, his inner wolf rising. His mouth opened to scream but instead he growled. His growl was pure canine, pure wolf, pure hate. He could feel his nails and teeth tingling, on the verge of shifting. He was teetering on the edge of a coin, moments away from falling headfirst into the wolf’s control, moments away from leaving his consciousness behind and leaping forward, moments away from attacking without reserve. 

Peter removed his claws from Derek’s shoulder, his human fingers returning. The small cuts in Derek’s exposed flesh were already close to being fully healed. Stiles felt his inner wolf weakening and took the opportunity to regain control. He pulled himself back to full consciousness, letting go of his hate and anger. The tingling subsided and as quick as it had come, his wolf was gone. The only evidence that anything had happened at all was his quickened heartbeat within his chest. 

“Interesting….” Peter was saying, maybe to himself, maybe to Derek. Derek’s shoulder had completely healed and the only evidence that he’d been wounded at all were the small drops of drying blood clinging to the man’s skin. 

“What’s interesting?” Stiles asked, confused at the whole situation. What was going on here? 

“ _This is_ ,” Peter replied and his hand flashed again. Even Stiles’ superhuman vision had trouble focusing on the lightning movement as the man’s human fingers had transformed to black claws midair and his hand was again deep in Derek’s shoulder. Derek growled this time at the attack, his face again wincing in pain. Then, Peter was dragging his claws downward, leaving deep bloody slice-marks in the Alpha’s muscled arm. 

Floodgates opened beneath Stiles’ skin. There was no stopping it, no controlling it. _Derek being threatened. Derek in danger. Derek hurt._ The thoughts were his but they didn’t feel like his. Something _else_ was in his mind, was in his body. 

His claws were out, his teeth were fangs, his hair was fur. He hadn’t even felt the change. He was already running forward, attack at the ready, claws cocked and ready to slash when his consciousness had finally caught up. 

For an instant, Stiles was looking through his own eyes, looking through the eyes of the wolf. He could see his target was retreating, had removed his claws from Derek’s shoulder, and had taken a few steps back. His wolf faltered at the signs of retreat and the neutralization of the threat. Stiles took the opportunity to reel the wolf back in. He focused his mind, or at least he tried to. 

_Concentrate!_ He screamed in his head. _I’m human! HUMAN!_ The movie reel was running in his mind again. Images that had seemed to work the day before. Scott, his dad, his mom, his house, lacrosse, everything. The images were working. He was taking back over. He could feel his arms and legs again, he could feel his fingers, his toes, his breathing, his heartbeat. 

He stopped running, hunched over with his hands resting on his knees. His eyes just barely caught the completion of the transformation as his claws receded to be replaced by his pink, human fingernails. He stood upright when he had caught his breath and felt completely back in control of himself. But who knew how long that would last? Something weird was going on here. 

He looked at Derek first. The man’s shoulder had once again completely healed although now a good deal more blood had trickled down his arm. He let the blood drip freely, making no attempt to wipe it away. The Alpha’s face was as emotionless as ever. Stiles sniffed at the air, inhaling the scent of the wolf on the breeze, and was sure he could make out the scents of pride and maybe delight intermingling with the man’s smell. It was only there for a second, though, before the Alpha had put his firewall back up. 

Then, Stiles shifted his eyes to Peter. The man was chuckling again. Seriously, _what was so goddamn funny?!_ Stiles thought. 

“Looks like the boy has a trigger,” Peter said, moving back beside his nephew. 

“Apparently,” Derek nodded. 

“EXPLAIN!” Stiles shouted, stomping towards the two men. He really hated people talking about him rather than to him. 

“A trigger,” Peter started saying. “is something that draws your wolf to the surface instantly. Many werewolves have them, but usually it’s something more internal, like a troubling memory that causes extremely intense feelings of anger or anxiety. A trigger causes you to instantly become the wolf. It can be difficult to control, especially for someone so young. A threat to Derek, whether perceived or real, seems to be your trigger.” 

“So let me get this straight,” Stiles said. “if something bad happens to Derek….., then I go completely insane and wolfy and lose control just like that?!” 

“Until you learn to control it, pretty much,” Derek replied. 

Stiles didn’t like the thought of that. As if it weren’t bad enough when he thought the things that would make him lose control were just intense emotions of anger or the pull of the full moon. Now he had to worry about losing control every time something or someone tried to threaten Derek. And Stiles knew that barely a day went by when someone or something wasn’t trying to threaten Derek. 

Something still wasn’t adding up, though. Why was this happening to Stiles and not everyone else? 

“But wait, I’m not your only Beta. Why isn’t everyone else wolfing out at the slightest threat to the Alpha? Why was I the only one who freaked out last night when Peter had attacked you?” Stiles asked. 

Derek didn’t answer right away. 

“Well,” he finally muttered. “All Betas have the instinct to protect their Alpha. But they have a choice in the matter as well. It’s kind of like how you may want to howl at the moon because that’s your instinct, but you can choose not to. Triggers are different. There’s less of a choice. But like Peter said, triggers are usually something more internal, something that happens within the constraints of your own mind. They aren’t usually _like this_.” 

_Great!_ Stiles thought. So he _was_ a defective werewolf. 

“So…. Now what?” he asked. 

“Same plan as always. We work on your control. And now that we know your trigger, it’ll make practicing more straightforward. So get ready. Peter….” 

The Alpha’s uncle had unsheathed his claws again. Stiles was in for an exhausting afternoon. 

** 

The next few days seemed to fly by. Maybe it was because between his sessions with Derek each afternoon and his training with the entire pack each evening, he often found himself collapsing into his bed each night completely exhausted. And by the time he woke up the next morning, it was time to start the whole process over again. 

His control was getting a little better, emphasis on _little_. He had made next to zero progress in stopping himself from wolfing out whenever Derek was threatened but at least putting the wolf back down had become a little easier. 

Combat training each night with the pack wasn’t going much better. Stiles was getting better at blocking and avoiding attacks but his offensive attack skills were still subpar, probably because he didn’t want to develop offensive attack skills. He didn’t want to let his wolf attack. He didn’t want to let his wolf fight. 

But today was the day he had been dreading. Tonight was the full moon and Stiles didn’t feel prepared. Mild improvement in controlling his wolf was great and all but he knew it wasn’t enough. He had seen Scott on his first full moon. His friend had gone completely crazy, losing all sense of himself, and becoming pure wolf. Stiles didn’t want that to happen to him. But he also knew there was no way to avoid it. He was locked into his fate but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. 

His phone buzzing pulled him back to reality. 

It was from Derek. 

_Today we’ll meet at Coffeebucks. 1:00._

That was weird, Stiles thought to himself. Why would Derek want to meet at a coffee shop instead of the usual clearing in the woods? Well, Stiles wasn’t complaining. He was getting a little sick of the constant wolfing out and un-wolfing out that took place every afternoon in the clearing. It’d be nice to have a change of scenery. 

A couple of hours later, Stiles pulled into the parking lot of the town’s most popular coffee shop. He noticed the shiny, black Camaro parked a couple of spaces down. It looked a lot nicer than it did the last time Stiles had ridden in it. Apparently Derek hadn’t wasted any time getting the thing cleaned up. 

Stiles stepped into the coffee shop, the bell on the door clanging as he entered. His ear twitched at the shrill clang and he wondered if he’d ever get used to the over-sensitivity of his wolf hearing to high-pitched sounds. Probably not. 

A quick inhale filled Stiles’ nose with dozens of smells. The most overwhelming among them was that of freshly-ground coffee beans; that smell was delightful. There were others, though. The smells of vanilla, caramel, and other flavors as well as the perfumes, soaps, and deodorants of all the people bustling in the small shop. Amidst the fray, he could easily pick out the aroma of something canine with a hint of leather, the smell of his Alpha. He followed it instinctively, finding himself at a small table in the back of the shop where Derek sat. 

He slid into the small wooden seat across from the older wolf. 

“I got you a caramel macchiato,” Derek said, motioning to the cup in front of Stiles’ seat. “It seemed like something you’d like.” 

“Thanks,” Stiles answered, raising the cup to his lips. The liquid was still burning hot as it hit his tongue but his wolfy taste buds didn’t seem to mind. It was sweet and tasted of coffee and caramel, the flavors dancing in Stiles’ mouth. 

The Alpha raised his own cup to his lips. Stiles couldn’t see the liquid in the cup but a small inhale of the air told Stiles the man was drinking plain old black coffee. Stiles wasn’t surprised. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, his voice more calm than Stiles was used to. “I know you’re worried about tonight.” 

“No, I’m not,” Stiles replied casually. He could hear the jump in his heartbeat as the words left his lips. He knew Derek could hear it too. The Alpha smirked and raised an eyebrow. 

“Look,” Derek continued, not mentioning Stiles’ lie. “It’s going to be fine. You’re not the first wolf I’ve had to safely navigate through a full moon. You’ll tell your dad that you’re staying over at Scott’s but instead you’ll come over to my place. You won’t hurt anyone. I promise.” 

Consolation? Reassurance? Stiles wasn’t used to attributing these qualities with the Alpha. But as the words left Derek’s lips, they made Stiles feel better. Putting the responsibility for him not attacking the townspeople during the full moon into someone else’s hands did sound like a good idea. 

“Deal,” Stiles said smiling. “Wait, you don’t have some giant cage hidden in that old house that I’m not aware of, do you?” 

“Cage?” Derek responded. “No, no cage. Just your average chains, handcuffs, and padlocks. Enough to tie down an elephant. Or in your case, a rabid, young wolf.” The Alpha smiled again as he sipped his coffee. Stiles frowned at the thought of being chained down in the dusty, old Hale house. 

He took another sip of his drink, the sweet liquid delighting his taste buds. He felt completely at ease now, sitting here with Derek, casually drinking his coffee. He smiled at the man when their eyes met. Derek smiled back which made absolutely no sense. Derek didn’t smile. If Stiles didn’t know any better, he’d say that this kind of felt like a….. _No don’t think that! This is not a date!_

Stiles looked away, not wanting to make the older wolf uncomfortable. He glanced across the coffee shop, eyeing all the people sitting at their tables, sipping their coffee, chatting with friends, reading their newspapers. A boy and a girl were sitting at a table not far from them. The girl was talking and the boy was watching her lips intently, eyes wide and heartbeat rapid as the girl rambled. Stiles felt bad for the guy because he reminded him too much of himself. Well, he reminded him of the _old_ Stiles, the Stiles that was hopelessly in love with Lydia, the girl who never gave him a second glance. 

“Poor guy….” Stiles muttered to himself. 

“What?” Derek questioned. 

“That guy,” Stiles said, motioning across the shop. “He’s clearly in love with that girl he’s sitting with but she doesn’t give him the time of day. Unrequited love’s a bitch.” 

Derek nodded in agreement but Stiles wondered why. Surely, Derek never had to deal with unrequited love. Stiles was pretty sure Derek never met a girl who wouldn’t gladly chop off her left foot at the chance to go out on a date with him. 

“So, how do you know it’s unrequited love?” Derek asked. “Do you know that guy or something?” 

“No, it’s just so obvious,” Stiles answered. “Wait, can’t you tell just from looking at them?” 

Derek eyed the couple again. He stared for a few moments before looking back at Stiles. 

“I guess,” Derek said. “Clearly, he has feelings for her. His pupils are dilated and he can barely keep from looking at her. His heart rate is elevated and his scent is tinged with arousal. And the girl, of course, won’t stop talking and barely looks his way. I guess that’d be unrequited love. But you sure picked up on that quick, Stiles. Had I not been focusing, I probably wouldn’t have given the two a second glance.” 

“Really? It seemed completely obvious to me,” Stiles said, sipping his drink again. 

“What else can you pick up on?” 

Stiles looked around the room. He looked at the girl behind the counter grinding coffee beans. She was easy to read. Sweat was pouring down her face, her breathing was labored, and she was moving impatiently. 

“Stressed, tired, overworked,” Stiles said as he pointed her out to Derek. “She hates her job. I don’t blame her.” 

Next, he looked toward a table where two young women in blouses and skirts were chattering away. The first girl was talking about a promotion at work and a sniff at her scent told Stiles she was elated. Her smile told the same story. The second girl was smiling too but her scent wasn’t matching up. It was laced with resentment, jealousy even. Stiles guessed she wasn’t as happy about her friend’s promotion as she was letting on. 

“Elated at her new promotion,” Stiles said, pointing again. “And her friend is pretending to be happy but is really jealous about it. Talk about ‘frenemies,’ am I right?” 

Stiles continued around the room. His voice was rambling as he spoke. He couldn’t help it. The scents and sights all came so easy to him. It was like reading words on a page but even more subconscious. One look at a person and a quick sniff at the air, and he knew what they were a feeling. 

“Bored and restless, probably waiting for someone to show up and debating if he should just give up and go home.” 

“Guilty and also jealous. Kind of a weird combination. But the guy’s wife is clearly clueless to whatever is tormenting him. She’s content with her coffee and indifferent to him, like she gave up caring about him a long time ago. I’m guessing loveless marriage, maybe infidelity.” 

“That guy’s happy, but like sickly happy, like when you’re happy about something you shouldn’t be happy about but you are anyway, you know? And that girl over there is depressed but trying desperately hard not to show it. Oh, I wonder what’s got her so down, poor girl.” 

“This guy is beyond tired, most likely hungover judging by the redness in his eyes. And he’s on the verge of puking…. Ew, but I hope he doesn’t.” 

“Oh and this is interesting over here, isn’t it. The one girl is rambling on about all her achievements and why she would be a good employee, I’m guessing it’s some kind of a job interview, but she is completely lying! She’s lying so much, her heart sounds like it has a murmur. But she’s good at it too, look at that face, not a sign of anxiety. She could give Lydia a run for her money. Oh, and the other woman is eating it up! Look at how she tries to keep a professional demeanor but you can see the way she’s holding back a smile. She’s trying to look as if she hasn’t just found everything she’s looking for in an employee. So oblivious. So sad.” 

Stiles looked back to Derek, having read all the people in the room. 

“Impressive,” was all the Alpha replied. 

“Really?” Stiles asked. “It’s not obvious to you? Not as easy as reading an open book?” 

“Intense emotions are always easiest,” Derek replied. “When someone is angry, or extremely happy, or depressed, the change in their scent can be picked up immediately. But now, with these people, all going about their business, with their emotions more subdued and under the surface, it becomes more difficult. Sure, with focus and years of practice, I could pick up on most everything you just did. But it seems so natural for you to read people, more natural than I’m used to seeing with new wolves.” 

Stiles brightened up at Derek’s words. Stiles was good at something? Great at something, even? It almost didn’t sound right. Stiles looked up from his drink to meet the eyes of the Alpha. 

“That just leaves one more,” Stiles said mischievously, searching the man’s face for signs of emotion. The Alpha was always difficult to read but now that Stiles was watching him, Derek tensed more, locking his emotions in a subconscious safe that the man always seemed to put up around other wolves. 

“Hmmm, interesting,” Stiles said, taking a large gulp of his coffee and smiling impishly, quietly implying that he had just read Derek as easily as everyone else in the room. In reality, the Alpha was much too good at hiding his emotions. 

“What is?” Derek asked coolly, eyes narrowing to a glare. Those were the “growly” eyes Stiles was used to. 

“Oh you know,” Stiles replied, still smiling. “Your shock, your amazement, the way you bask in the glow of my awesomeness. Oh, what it must be like to be you, lucky enough to sit in the presence of me?” Stiles chuckled. 

Derek glared again but Stiles ignored it. The firewall lifted for just an instant and Stiles was sure he picked up on the scent of something happy, maybe just some internal laughing at Stiles’ awesome joke but maybe something more, maybe _joy_. 

Stiles was actually having a fun time. It was a little weird that it was a fun time with Derek, but a fun time was a fun time. And after the last few days, he deserved a little fun. 

The time was cut short, however, as the bell to the coffee shop clanged and a harsh odor filled Stiles’ nose. He recognized the scent of wolfsbane immediately. It burned his nostrils. 

Derek’s hand had gripped his wrist. “Shhh!” he was saying. “Don’t react.” The Alpha’s eyes were locked on the strangers that had just entered the shop. Stiles focused on breathing through his mouth and kept his eyes glued on the table’s surface. 

“Hunters,” Derek said in a hushed voice. “Carrying concealed weapons with wolfsbane bullets.” 

“I had put that much together, thanks,” Stiles gasped, desperately trying to remain inconspicuous. 

Derek followed the intruders with his eyes, watching as they approached the counter. All the while, he didn’t let go of Stiles’ wrist. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this one. As always, thanks for reading and comment below!


	9. The Full Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, I'm kind of in love with this chapter... I hope you are too. Enjoy!!

The familiarity of the situation was not lost on Derek. It was an odd coincidence that the hunters would just waltz into the coffee shop where two werewolves just happened to be sitting. Especially when the hunters undoing the first time around had been them just happening to walk into a restaurant where four werewolves were eating. But coincidence or not, Derek couldn’t ignore an opportunity when it presented itself.

As the hunters received their drinks and prepared to depart, Derek released his grip on Stiles’ wrist. It felt wrong to let the boy go; his urge to protect the boy was stronger than ever. The last half hour with Stiles had been bliss for Derek. He had loved just sitting alone with the boy, breathing his scent, watching his face light up as he surveyed the emotions of the people in the small shop. Derek didn’t want it to end. 

But this demanded his attention. There had been no trace of the hunters since the wolves had returned to Beacon Hills. He had assigned his Betas regular patrol shifts to canvass the town, searching for any sight, any smell, any sign that pointed to the hunters’ arrival. And after day upon day of no success, here were two hunters just parading themselves in front of him. He couldn’t ignore that. 

He stood to leave as the hunters exited the shop. 

“Derek, wait!” Stiles’ voice was hushed but clearly anxious, his scent tinged with worry. Derek looked at the boy, hating that the boy was scared. “You can’t go after them! This has got to be a trap! What are the chances that they would just happen to walk in while we were here? They probably saw your Camaro outside and knew you’d be here! Can’t you see this is a bad idea?!” 

Derek thought the boy made a point. He may be right. This may be a trap. But he didn’t care. He needed to follow the hunters, needed to find out where they were staying, how many there were, and what they were planning. He couldn’t just let them get away and wait for them to strike. No, he definitely couldn’t do that. 

“I don’t care, Stiles,” his voice a sharp hiss. “Trap or not, I can’t let them get away. I just can’t!” 

“Well, then I’m coming with you,” Stiles said, rising from his seat. 

“No, you’re not,” Derek ordered. “You’ll gather the rest of the pack. Meet at my place. Once I find out where the hunters are held up, I’ll meet you there and we’ll form our plan. Got it?” 

“I’m not letting you go after them alone,” Stiles huffed. 

Derek glared. He had put up with the boy’s sharp tongue before but now the boy was his Beta and there was no time for an argument. 

“Yes, you will. Now go,” his voice was a growl and his eyes flashed red. If they weren’t in a public place, he probably would have thrown the boy against a wall for good measure. 

Derek stalked out of the shop, the scent of the hunters hot in nose. He wouldn’t let them get away. 

Stiles grumbled but didn’t follow. 

_Good_ , Derek thought. 

** 

Stiles exited the coffee shop still unsure of what he was going to do. Derek’s Camaro was already speeding out of the parking lot. Stiles knew that if he hurried, he could hop in his jeep and catch up to the shiny, black car. He could follow Derek and give the guy some much needed backup. Sure, the guy had ordered Stiles to let him go alone but Stiles had never been that great at following orders. 

Or Stiles could do what Derek had said. He could get in touch with the rest of the pack, gather them at the Hale house, and try to strategize some sort of plan. Both seemed like viable options. What to do? _What to do?!_

Stiles decided that as stupid as it was for Derek to chase after the hunters into what was most probably going to be a trap, it would be even stupider for Stiles to chase after the Alpha and fall into the same said trap. It would be better to gather the troops and work together. That’s why you had a pack, right? Plus, the last time he had chased off after Derek after explicitly being told not to, he had almost died. He would do things differently this time around, smarter even. 

He hopped into his jeep and sped off down the road, texting Scott as he went. 

** 

Derek barreled down the wooded road leading away from town. The hum of the car engine ahead of him in the distance held his ears. He was hot on the hunters’ trail, leaving just enough distance between him and them that he would remain out of their sight. He had to know where they were held up, had to isolate the threat, had to protect his pack. 

He didn’t hear the sound of the bullet until it was too late. It blew through his right rear tire, busting open the rubber in a cloud of smoke. The car jerked toward the ditch on the side of the road. Derek slammed on the brakes, turning the wheel to straighten the car before it went spinning off the road. 

His nerves were on edge, his wolf was rising. He stepped out of the car, scoping the tree line in the direction of where the bullet had come. 

Another shot fired, this time from the other side of the street. It sliced through his back, penetrating deep into his flesh. He growled in fury as he whipped around, his wolf clawing to the surface as he did. He looked for the source of the shot, trying to sharpen his vision. His focus was fading, however, and the skyline on the edges of his sight was blurring. 

Something was wrong. His heart was racing. His sight was blackening. His muscles were weakening. He dropped to the ground, clutching at his head. His last image was a blurry, white cloud floating overhead as he hit the pavement and blackness surrounded him. 

** 

Stiles looked around at the group of werewolves packed into the Hale house living room. Scott, Isaac, and Jackson were sitting on the green sofa while Erica and Boyd were sitting on the pink. Peter was standing in the open doorway. Stiles still wasn’t sure how the guy had known to show up. Stiles didn’t have the guy’s number and yet when all the other wolves had shown up at the Hale house in response to Stiles’ frantic texts, the Alpha’s uncle had shown up as well. 

Stiles was still pacing in front of the old fireplace. He had just finished recounting the tale of what had happened in the coffee shop. 

“So what are we gonna do?!” Stiles asked, his voice a little panicked. His eyes met Peter’s. It made sense to Stiles that the man should have a plan. After all, he was the only one here who wasn’t a teenager. He would know what to do. 

“We do what Derek said,” Isaac replied. “We wait for him to show up here and then we’ll follow his orders for what to do about the hunters.” Isaac’s unyielding loyalty to Derek was usually heartwarming to Stiles. Now, it was just irritating. 

“That’s assuming he does show up here,” Peter said. “Stiles is right. The hunters showing up so blatantly in the coffee shop cannot be mere coincidence, especially when there has been no trace of them up until now. It makes more sense that it was a trap for Derek. And it sounds like he fell right into it.” There was no emotion in the man’s voice. Stiles thought there should be more worry there, more concern. He was, after all, talking about his nephew, his one and only living relative, falling into a trap set forth by murderous hunters. 

“Yes!” Stiles practically shouted. “So we should go after him! He needs our help!” 

“But you said yourself you’re not sure where he went, only that you saw him traveling west on Bedford Street. That’s hardly a roadmap,” Jackson said coldly. 

“Well, we can’t just sit here and wait, can we? …Peter?” Stiles panted. The older man didn’t answer at first. He seemed to be weighing options in his head. Stiles continued to pace nervously. 

“We could fan out and search around the town and its outskirts looking for signs of Derek or the hunters,” Boyd suggested. 

“Yes! Yes! That sounds like a good plan,” Stiles responded. 

“No. Spreading ourselves thin when hunters are known to be in the vicinity is a mistake. We’re stronger together as a pack,” Peter said, shooting down Boyd’s plan and Stiles’ spirits. 

“Then WHAT?!” Stiles whined. 

“Well has anyone tried calling Derek?” Erica asked. “Maybe he’s actually okay.” Stiles rejoiced at the notion. His phone was in his hand in an instant. _How could he not have thought of this before?!_

The phone rang once in his ear. Again. Again. Still no answer. Two more rings and then it went to voicemail. 

“Dammit,” Stiles muttered. 

A few more moments of silence passed with each of the wolves on edge, Stiles more so than any of them. 

“Okay,” Peter finally said. “Stiles is right that we can’t just sit here and wait. We’ll break up into two teams of three. Three of us will start at the coffee shop and head west, looking for any sign or scent of Derek or the hunters. The other three will start from here, heading through the woods and also heading west. If the hunters are planning an attack on the pack, it’s likely they’ll head this way through the forest preserve. They’d know the house is Derek’s and that it serves as our HQ. Everyone will keep their phones on. Any sign of trouble or of Derek, and you call the other group.” 

Many of the teens nodded in agreement. No one else seemed to have a better plan. Even Stiles, the self-proclaimed “Plan Guy,” didn’t know what they should do. The plan sounded oddly reminiscent of those plans they’d use on Scooby Doo. “Let’s split up, gang!” echoed in his head in Fred’s voice. Well, the good news was that those plans always ended with the good guys on top so if it could work for them, it could work for us. We _are_ the good guys, right? 

“Wait,” Stiles questioned as he stopped pacing. “You said three and three. There are seven of us.” 

“Stiles, it’s the full moon, remember?” Peter said. “And your first one at that. It’d be irresponsible for you to come with and frankly, dangerous. You’ll be here where you can’t injure yourself or others.” 

“Fuck that!” Stiles growled, his anger rising. He usually didn’t use profanity, his father was a stickler about it for some reason but the situation seemed to warrant the words. 

“Yea, asking Stiles to stay out of the action hasn’t really worked out in the past,” Scott said. Stiles was glad that at least someone had his back. 

“Well, having a werewolf roam the town the night of their first full moon _hasn’t really worked out in the past_ ,” Peter countered, his words mocking. 

Stiles crossed his arms and huffed in defeat. He knew the older wolf was right. Flashbacks of Scott’s first full moon crossed his mind. Stiles had to handcuff his friend to the radiator just to keep him from mauling him and who knows who else. But Stiles didn’t have to like it. Especially when it seemed like the “Werewolf Vs. Hunter Fight Fest” was all about to go down tonight. 

“Dammit!” Stiles gasped. “Fine! Well, let’s get a move on. Every second counts.” 

** 

The sun was setting and still no sign of Derek or any hunters. Scott sniffed at the air, inhaling deeply, searching for any smell that wasn’t earth or trees or woodland creatures but alas, found nothing. They had been searching for hours and Scott was beginning to wonder if wandering the woods hoping to find some trace of their enemies was actually the best plan. It seemed to be getting them nowhere and time was of the essence. 

He looked to his left, nothing but trees and nothing out of the ordinary. He looked straight ahead, the fading orange light blinding his sensitive pupils. He looked to his right; he could make out the form of Isaac patrolling a handful of yards away and Peter a few yards beyond that. 

The wind shifted and a new scent hit Scott’s nose. It was faint but it was there. It was a scent he would recognize anywhere, the scent of his Alpha. He turned towards it and began to sprint, dodging through the trees. 

The other two wolves sensed his change in demeanor and chased after him. 

_Finally! A lead!_ He thought. 

** 

Night had fallen and Stiles found himself latched to a pipe in the dirty, rusty basement of the Hale house. Chains encircled his wrists and ankles, binding them to the sturdy, old pipe that lined the concrete wall. A large brass padlock locked the chains together. The chains were just loose enough so that Stiles could sit on the floor but any drastic movement to the left or right pulled the chains taught so they’d dig at Stiles’ skin. 

The phone in Stiles’ hands hadn’t buzzed in a long while and his palm was sweaty from where he’d gripped the phone tightly. He couldn’t put the thing down because there wasn’t enough slack in the chains for him to pick it up again. So he held on to the tiny device for dear life, desperate for word from the others on the progress on the search for the hunters and for Derek. 

The first few hours had been okay. Stiles hadn’t been comfortable but at least he’d received frequent updates from Scott. The first handful of texts from his best friend had all been pretty much the same. They’d say _Nothing yet_ or _No sign yet, still looking_. The last one had said _Found Derek’s car. Tire blown out. No sign of Derek._

That was at least a couple of hours ago. Stiles had no idea what was going on now. Had they found the hunters? Had they found Derek? Were they alive? Had there been a battle? WHAT WAS GOING ON?! 

Stiles tugged at the chains, rattling them roughly against the metal pipe. He knew the thing wouldn’t give way but it still felt good to pull at it, to rebel, to hunt for freedom. 

The rattling stopped as Stiles once again gave up at pulling on the chains. In a few minutes, he’d probably end up pulling at them again. That seemed to be the pattern he’d developed over the last hour. At least it gave him something to focus on besides wondering what the heck was happening to everyone else, from what was happening to Derek. 

Small rays of moonlight were pouring in through the small windows at the top of the opposing wall. The moon had been pulling at Stiles ever since the sun began to set. Now, the pull was stronger than ever. It was no different than Stiles was expecting. His inner wolf was tingling beneath the surface. He could feel pins and needles pressing under his skin throughout his body. He could feel the anger and hate building in the depths of his mind. He knew it was only a matter of time before the beast took over. 

A shiver jolted through his body. The pull was getting stronger. His hands were shaking and his teeth clattering. The phone dropped from his hands, clunking as it hit the cement floor. His nails were sharpening and his fangs to match. He was losing control. 

It was happening. 

** 

Scott eyed the wooded landscape before him. It was night now but his eyes adjusted easily, searching through the darkness for signs of life. 

It had been a couple of hours since they’d found Derek’s abandoned Camaro on the side of the empty woodland road. They had followed the trail of car exhaust and the scents of people and wolfsbane for miles down the road until they had wound up deep in the California wilderness. 

Even now, as they patrolled the woods, the scents of multiple people, multiple hunters given by the twinge of wolfsbane mixed among the smells, held thick in the air. People had passed through this area recently. But the scents all seemed to lead in circles, crisscrossing through the forest. All the while, there had been no signs of anyone actually here and no signs of where the hunters were now. Scott was beginning to think the whole thing was a set up, that the hunters had crisscrossed here intentionally to send the wolves on a wild goose chase. 

But what else could they do? They had no other leads. And it was Derek’s scent that had led them to this wilderness in the first place. There _had_ to be answers around here somewhere. But _where?!_

The moon was high in the sky now. It pulled at Scott’s wolf, calling him, screaming at him. His nerves were on edge but he desperately held onto control of his consciousness. He knew that at any moment he was centimeters away from wolfing out, from losing himself. But this wasn’t his first full moon, not like Stiles. If he concentrated, he’d be okay. But that was easier said than done. 

Controlling his wolf, especially during the full moon, used to be so much easier when he had Allison. She had been his anchor, his link to humanity, the one entity that when centered in his mind, brought with it control and concentration. Now, though, he had to focus on other things, on his mother, on his best friend, on himself. It wasn’t as effective but it was working so far. He’d make it work. 

Scott stopped walking, inhaling deeply at the air for what seemed to be the thousandth time this evening. Too many smells, too many directions to go, too many dead ends. 

A sound pierced the air. It was loud, screeching, deafening. Scott gripped his ears in protest and he fell to his knees. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from, up or down, east or west. It was high-pitched and echoing, and its pitch was constantly changing, like a car alarm on steroids. The noise pulsed in Scott’s head. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t think. His mind was ringing. _Where was it coming from?! MAKE IT STOP!!_

Isaac had fallen to the ground in a similar fashion, covering his ears much the same way Scott had. Scott couldn’t see Peter. Maybe he had fallen, maybe he was behind a tree. Scott didn’t have the energy to look for the man’s scent or heartbeat. All he could focus on was the screeching and _where the heck was it coming from?!_

Scott didn’t hear the pull of a trigger, he didn’t hear the jump of a heartbeat, and he didn’t see anyone around. But a bullet had been fired and Isaac was on the ground, clutching at the hole in his chest. Scott ducked behind the nearest tree trunk. He watched in horror as Isaac’s breathing became exhaustive and his arms fell to his sides. Then, the wolf was unconscious on the forest floor. 

_He’s not dead, he’s not dead!_ Scott thought to himself. He begged for the thoughts to be true. But the thoughts were difficult to make out among the screaming and clanging in his ears. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t act. The sound was coming from everywhere and nowhere. Scott’s eardrums pulsated violently. He tried to make himself focus. It took all his strength but he listened for Isaac’s heartbeat, begged to hear it. 

Scott sighed in relief, if only for a moment. The boy’s heart was still beating, his lungs still breathing. Scott didn’t smell the cruel odor of wolfsbane coming from the wolf or his wound. Whatever was in that bullet, it knocked you out but didn’t kill you. And the noise raged on. 

_Nonlethal bullets?_ Scott thought to himself. _Why would they be using those?_

Scott didn’t have time to wonder about that now. He inched his face around the edge of the tree. He strained his ears and squinted his eyes in the direction from which the bullet had come. He didn’t see anything. And he couldn’t hear anything over the noise. 

He scanned the trees, he searched the forest floor. Where? _WHERE?!_

He didn’t see the bullet coming his way until it was too late. It struck him roughly in the shoulder. The wound burnt instantly. Fire was coursing through his veins. His vision was blurring. His muscles were failing. He hit the forest floor with a thud, ears still ringing. 

** 

Stiles was lost in his own mind. His wolf had taken over and there was no hope of regaining control. 

He howled and snapped his teeth. He pulled at the chains binding his hands and feet, banging them roughly against the pipe and the wall. The rusty chain-links gouged deeply into his fur-covered wrists as he pulled at his bindings. He thrashed and kicked, pushed and pulled, but he was trapped. And his wolf hated feeling trapped. 

The moonlight was now flooding through the small windows. It spurred him on, boiled his blood, encouraged his rage. He snarled and howled again, tugging hard against the chains. His sharp claws twisted and ground against the rusty metal. Sharp as they were, they wouldn’t pierce the cool steel. 

Then something in his head was burning, blinding, stabbing. His mind raged. 

_He’s in danger! He’s hurt! HURT!!! HURT!!!_

He howled again in agony. He yanked at the chains, twisting his torso and struggling in a frenzy. The metal pipe creaked at the struggle, its bolts straining at the increased pressure. The chains were pulled taught, each link quivering, begging to break. And he begged for the links to break. He begged for the lock to open. He begged for the pipe to crumble. 

He gasped for air, straining his muscles but refusing to quit pulling. 

_MUST GO TO HIM!!!_

The pipe creaked again. It was straining, it was struggling, it was _breaking_. He pulled harder. He yanked. His wrists were screaming in agony as the tightened chains cut off circulation. It was a battle. It was a war. His own strength versus that of the pipe. He refused to let go. He refused to give in. His bones were going to be crushed. He wouldn’t let go. The pipe creaked again and then it was loosening. Stiles continued to pull. Bolts were breaking. Rusty connections were failing. 

And then the pipe was crashing to the floor, a cloud of dust and dirt rising in its wake. His chains were loose. He tossed them off his wrists and then kicked off the ones from his feet. 

He was free, he was _FREE!_

A second passed and his feet were in motion. He was up the stairs. He was out the door. He was in the yard. He lifted his head to the pale, glowing moon and let the air flood out of his lungs. He howled to the moon, howled his loudest, howled his deepest. His howl pierced the night sky, rang in the trees, flooded over the landscape. 

_I’M COMING!_

And he dashed into the night. 

** 

He was a wolf but he was still Stiles. 

He was looking through the wolf’s eyes, running on the wolf’s legs, but somewhere inside, he was still himself. Even though he felt like he was riding in the passenger seat of his own mind. 

He didn’t know how he knew where to run. He didn’t know where he was going. But he knew it was where he was supposed to be going. It would lead to _him_. 

He was running through the woods. He was already miles outside of town. He gasped at the air, greedily inhaling as much oxygen as he could muster with each breath. There were scents in the air, scents of animals, of people, and of werewolves but he wasn’t following scents. 

When the small cabin finally came into view, Stiles was out of breath and his legs felt like jelly. He hadn’t known werewolves to get exhausted but he supposed even wolves had their limits. The cabin was wooden and most likely only one room. It was hidden out in the woods with no roads leading to or away from it, most likely only to be used by hikers or other wilderness aficionados that wandered the trails out here deep in the wilderness. 

Stiles burst through the front door, still under the control of his wolf. One small lantern was the only thing giving light to the room but Stiles didn’t need it. The two hunters in the small room jumped to their feet. It would be their last mistake. 

Stiles growled and moved like a flash. His claws moved of their own accord and he was on the first hunter before the man could even lift a weapon. The man’s neck was exposed, one slash and he hit the floor. 

The other man had lifted his gun. It was aimed at Stiles. But Stiles knew no fear and his body again moved of its own fruition. A jump, a growl, and a slash and the second man was falling to the floor too, his gun clanking against the wood unfired. 

And finally Stiles turned his head so his eyes could rest on what he’d been searching for, _who_ he’d been searching for. 

Derek was lying on the dirty, wooden floor, his hands and feet bound. His clothes were dirty and scuffed from where the hunters had kicked him with their boots. His face was scuffed from where they had struck him with the butts of their guns. Stiles knew that if it weren’t for the man’s superhuman healing powers, he would be covered from head to toe with bruises. 

There were holes in the man’s shirt and along his jeans, too, each one with fraying edges. Empty bullet casings littered the floor nearby. The man’s body didn’t show it but it was clear to Stiles that he had been shot repeatedly by the hunters with bullets, normal bullets judging by the healed skin beneath the frayed bullet holes. The hunters had probably watched greedily as they caused sharp pains in the man that would instantly heal. It made Stiles sick to his stomach. 

There were small puddles of blood on the floor too and spurts of it near the man’s face, drying evidence of wounds already healed. Empty syringes had been cast aside near the man’s feet, seemingly having been filled with whatever serum the hunters used to keep Derek unconscious. 

Stiles brought his claws to the layers upon layers of duct tape binding Derek’s hands and feet together. It seemed they had used an entire roll just to bind the older wolf’s limbs. Stiles wondered if even that would be enough to hold back the Alpha had he awakened. He guessed not. 

He sliced through the sticky layers of tape, releasing the man’s limbs from their entrapment and casting the sticky remains of his bindings across the room. He knelt beside the older man’s head, lifting his torso upward so it could rest against Stiles’ chest. Stiles sat there quietly, his back resting against the cabin’s wooden wall and Derek’s unconscious body resting against his own. He kept his arms wrapped tightly against the man’s chest, holding him close, keeping him safe. 

He listened to Derek’s heartbeat, thankful it was regular. He felt the inhale and exhale of the man’s chest against his own. Minutes passed as they sat there together, Stiles timing his breaths to match Derek’s. Thoughts tried to pierce their way into Stiles’ mind. _What are you doing? There could be others! Why are you cradling him? This isn’t how a Beta treats his Alpha! This is war! Get a move on!_

Stiles’ wolf ignored the thoughts. _Stiles_ ignored the thoughts. There was nowhere else to be. There was nothing else to do. He belonged here, with Derek cradled in his arms. His wolf purred within. He was calming down. He didn’t know how but he was calming. His hate and his anger were dissipating. He was feeling something else now, something he didn’t want to put a label on. 

** 

The fog cleared and Derek could see again. But he wasn’t seeing what he was expecting. There were no clouds or woods or roads, the last things he could remember seeing. There were no hunters, no guns, no fighting, the things he expected to be seeing. 

No, what he was seeing was the kitchen of the Hale house. But this wasn’t the kitchen that he was used to. It wasn’t the kitchen of his childhood. The appliances were different, newer, and modern. This was the kitchen he had seen once before, in that dream he had had in that dingy motel room. He looked toward the small wooden table and chairs in the corner and remembered the newspaper that had been sprawled out atop it. He remembered the young man, Stiles, who had sat there. He remembered the sweet taste of the man’s soft lips. He remembered it all. 

So this was a dream. Though it didn’t feel like one. It felt perfectly real. 

The table was no longer adorned with an outstretched newspaper but rather instead a large pile of presents, all of different sizes and with different colored wrappings, some with ribbon and some with cards. He looked up to the large doorway that led to the foyer. It was the same doorway he had entered through in the other dream to find Stiles in the kitchen. Now it held a large, draping banner that read “ _HAPPY BIRTHDAY_ ” in rainbow letters. 

He looked down at his hands. He was delicately handling a piping bag filled with white icing and adorned with a star-design metal tip at its end. Before him on the counter of the kitchen island was a large, pink birthday cake with only half of a white icing border piped along its edge. The pink and white icing on the cake seemed to match the colorful smears clinging to the cloth apron wrapped around his waist. Other baking supplies and tools were surrounding him on the countertop. 

Wait, was he, Derek Hale, _piping icing onto a birthday cake?_ That didn’t sound right. But it didn’t necessarily feel wrong either. 

The more striking thing about the scene, however, was what was written on the cake. In fluffy, white letters, whose design pattern seemed to match the small metal piping tip resting on the counter to his right, read the words “ _Happy Birthday Laura!_ ” 

His jaw almost dropped. He was almost surprised. But like the dreams before, even this felt just as perfectly normal as it felt completely foreign. The sliding glass door to his right that led to the backyard creaked as it slid open. The smell was the first thing that hit him. The warm scent of cherries and honey brushed past his nose. He looked up, not so surprised to find butterscotch eyes looking back at him. 

“Are you done yet?” the young man questioned. Derek could hear the soft sounds of music and voices and children laughing coming from the backyard behind Stiles. It was a birthday party apparently. 

“Almost,” Derek answered. “I want it to be perfect.” He brought the piping bag back to the cake and began to finish the icing border. His hands moved instinctively, delicately swirling the icing into place. 

The young man approached, leaning over the counter on the other side of the kitchen island. His hand moved quickly and Derek couldn’t stop it. Stiles swiped his index finger through the icing of one of the swirls and brought his finger to his mouth, sucking the icing and smiling impishly. 

“Oops,” he said with no tone of apology in his voice. 

“You’ll pay for that,” Derek growled but there was no real anger in his words. He would actually expect nothing less from the man, from _his_ man. 

“I certainly hope so,” Stiles countered, still sucking on the tip of his finger despite all the icing being gone. The motion was oh so suggestive. 

Derek chuckled. He couldn’t believe how happy he was right now in this moment, almost unfairly happy. He never thought he deserved this kind of happiness. 

“Can you believe she turns three today?” Stiles asked, clearly seeing the sentiment building in Derek’s eyes as he stared down at the cake before him. 

“Not even a little bit,” Derek replied truthfully. 

“C’mon, hurry up, she’s waiting,” Stiles said, smiling as he turned and left the way he came. 

Derek couldn’t believe it. Three years old. _His_ daughter. _Their_ daughter. 

** 

Stiles was still sitting calmly with Derek resting in his arms as the minutes passed. 

Finally, Derek began to stir. He groaned as he opened his eyes. Derek turned his head and his eyes met Stiles’. Stiles held his gaze, their faces mere inches apart. He brought his hand to the side of Derek’s face, brushing it softly against the man’s skin. He was surprised to see pearly fingernails and pale skin rather than sharp black claws. When had he resumed his human form? Where had the wolf gone? 

Derek’s hand had risen up to find its place at the back of his head, the man’s soft fingers nestling in Stiles’ scruffy brown hair. Derek’s hazel-green eyes were warm and inviting. The emotional forcefield that usually surrounded the other wolf had been lifted and all Stiles could smell was the man’s joy, and affection, and passion. It was ecstasy in Stiles’ nostrils. 

Was that Derek’s hand pulling Stiles’ head downward? Or was that Stiles’ hand pulling Derek’s head upward? There wasn’t enough time to distinguish before their lips were touching. Stiles closed his eyes. The territory was new, it was foreign, but it felt right, it felt _perfect_. His wet lips brushed over Derek’s, clasping and tensing over the older wolf’s soft, stubbled mouth. It was slow-going but passionate as their mouths explored one another, a lip suckling here, a tongue penetrating there. 

And then the intensity had increased. Derek inhaled deeply and his tongue was coursing throughout Stiles’ mouth. Their tongues met, sliding over one another, hot and wet. Stiles inhaled too, the smell of arousal growing in the air as the two wolves’ hot scents filled the small room. 

And then Derek was pulling away and _why was he pulling away?!_

Stiles was afraid to open his eyes, afraid he’d be opening them to find Derek glaring at him, hating him, hurting him. 

“Stiles,” Derek said. His voice was calm, not scornful. It was soft, not angry. 

Stiles opened his eyes. Cool peridot spheres looked at him longingly. He didn’t know why he thought of that descriptor now in this moment but looking into Derek’s eyes, it was the word that came to mind: peridot. His mother had had a peridot necklace that she only wore for special occasions. Derek’s eyes matched the jewel to a tee. Stiles’ inner wolf purred at the sight. So _that’s_ where his wolf had gone. 

“Stiles, what happened? What’s going on?” Derek asked. 

Reality seemed to be settling back in. The pack. Hunters. Everything. 

Derek sat up and Stiles began to recount the tale of all that had happened since he left Derek at the coffee shop. Stiles tried his hardest to focus but with every gap in his story, every pause to take a breath, his mind went right back to Derek, and Derek’s lips, and Derek’s everything. 

Stiles had barely finished recounting the story when the door burst open. Peter Hale barged into the room, his breath labored. He clearly had sprinted here. Stiles knew the feeling. 

“They’re coming,” the Alpha’s uncle said, his face filled with worry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all my wonderful readers! I can't tell you how happy it makes me that people out there would actually want to read what I have written so THANK YOU!!


	10. Skirmish

Peter was talking, was saying something about hunters but Derek was having trouble concentrating. Stiles was crouched at his feet. His fingers were trembling. His scent was harsh with despair and regret. Why was he sad? This wasn’t a time to be sad. This was a time to be angry, to be energized, to prepare for battle! Hunters were coming! If he had heard Peter correctly, they’d be here any minute!

Stiles was leaning over one of the two fallen bodies in the room. His trembling hand was reaching towards the man’s slashed neck. He pressed two fingers into blood-stained flesh, desperately searching for a pulse. He had placed his other hand firmly against the body’s chest, no doubt begging to feel the pounding of a heart beneath it. 

But Derek knew the man was dead. Stiles knew it too. Checking for the pulse now was a moot point. There was no heartbeat beneath the fallen man’s chest, no airflow in the man’s lungs, and no life left in his upward gazing eyes. 

The tears were welling up behind the teenager’s eyes. His breathing was accelerating, his pulse frantic. He looked up at Derek, his butterscotch eyes wet and worried. 

“Der…ek…. he’s…. I…didn’t…..Derek…” the words spilled out of the boy’s quivering lips, barely distinguishable. 

“Stiles,” Derek said in his most consoling voice. He wasn’t used to being consoling. He thought his voice probably sounded harsher than he meant it to. “Stiles, there’s nothing we can…” 

“Bite him!” Stiles yelped. “Quick! Now! We can save him! We can save both of them!” 

“Stiles….” Derek repeated, hunching down to the boy’s level. He put a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. “The bite can’t bring people back from the dead. These men….. it’s too late.” 

He hoped his voice was soft enough, was gentle enough. 

“It’s not too late!” Stiles was gasping through harsh breaths. His cheeks were now flooded with tears. He pulled on Derek’s arm, begging. “You have to try! YOU HAVE TO! DEREK! NOW!” 

“Stiles,” Derek said again. He didn’t like saying the boy’s name like this, in such a somber tone. “They wouldn’t want that. They were hunters. It would be an insult to bite them. And like I said, it’s too late anyway.” 

“But I…. I…. I kill…. I killed them!” Stiles whimpered. 

“I know,” Derek sighed. “But you didn’t mean to.” He pulled Stiles closer to himself, away from the dead body of the hunter. The boy resisted at first but Derek tugged his arm harder until Stiles wet cheek was firm against his chest. 

Derek wanted to be sad, wanted to be sad for Stiles, wanted to feel some sort of regret that the two hunters were dead. But there was no regret for Derek. The hunters had captured him. The hunters had bound him. The hunters had injected him with _something_ that knocked him out, leaving him weak and exposed. They beat him. They kicked him. They shot him. Derek had no compassion for them. He felt no regret in the face of their deaths. Had he been given the chance, he would have slashed their throats much sooner and not thought twice about it. 

But Stiles wasn’t Derek. Derek knew that. The boy was still innocent. To the boy, inflicting pain on another human being, even a hunter who would kill him as soon as look at him, was a travesty. To Stiles, this was a nightmare come to life. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Derek consoled. But Derek didn’t know if it would be okay. And it didn’t seem to give Stiles much comfort. 

“Derek….” Peter finally interrupted, having had remained silent and unmoving near the entrance as Stiles had his breakdown. 

Derek looked up at his uncle, annoyed at the man’s intrusion on his moment with Stiles. Derek didn’t have time for his uncle or his problems. Stiles was in a crisis. Stiles needed him. 

“Derek, we really don’t have time for this…” the man said. 

Though he didn’t want to hear it, Derek knew he was right. Derek knew the hunters were coming. If he didn’t want himself and Stiles and Peter to join these two hunters in the afterlife tonight, he’d have to stand up and take action. 

He pulled himself to his feet, dragging the sobbing boy upwards with him. 

“Right,” Derek said. He pulled the boy away from him. Stiles looked into his eyes. 

“Stiles, we’ll talk about this later. Right now, it’s time to wipe your tears and prepare yourself. The night isn’t over.” His voice sounded harsh again. It was demanding. He hated that he had to use that voice. But it had to be done. 

“Too late,” Peter said, his voice falling. “They’re here.” 

** 

“COME ON OUT, WEREWOLVES! YOU’RE SURROUNDED!” 

Stiles wiped his face, the sadness and regret instantly replaced by fear. The hunters were here. The hunters had them surrounded. It was fight or flight. Except flight wasn’t really an option. And Stiles wasn’t that good at fighting. 

_Yep. I’m gonna die_ , he thought to himself. 

“Fuck,” Derek gasped, the older wolf’s hands trembling with anger. 

Then, Derek was changing. His teeth and claws and face had become the wolf. Stiles’ pulse quickened; his anxiety was palpable. This was happening. It was The Final Battle, The Empire versus The Republic, the men of Gondor versus the armies of Sauron. Okay, maybe it wasn’t as epic as _Star Wars_ or _Lord of the Rings_ but it was still life or death. 

Peter had changed too. He wasn’t as intimidating as Derek, but his golden eyes and sharp claws still left him a force to be reckoned with. 

Stiles couldn’t bring himself to change to the wolf, even though it was necessary, even though refusing to turn meant instant death. He didn’t care. The full moon could pull at him all it wanted. His wolf was a killer. His wolf was a monster. 

Derek’s red eyes met his own. The Alpha howled. It was the same blood-curdling howl that echoed in his ears day after day in the clearing by the Hale house. The Alpha was giving him no choice. Derek was giving him no choice. Stiles’ hands were tingling, his teeth were tingling, his face and arms and legs were all pins and needles. 

He fought the wolf. He wrestled it in his mind. But it was a losing fight. The sharp pain was starting and it was too familiar. His nails were claws. His teeth were fangs. He slipped and the wolf took over instantly. He had changed. 

Derek kicked through the cabin’s wooden door. Its hinges crumbled easily and the door was vaulted outwards. The Alpha growled angrily as he stepped through the opening, his hate and fury emanating like heat waves. 

Peter was on his tail, growling as well as he exited the building. 

Stiles’ wolf was in control. It followed its Alpha out the door, its hate and rage boiling. It was ready to attack. It was ready to kill. Stiles wanted to stop it. Well, he thought he wanted to stop it. But his mouth was salivating, his claws were itching in excitement, and his beady eyes searched for a target. He really _was_ a monster. 

And they really were surrounded. Stiles counted thirteen hunters surrounding the small entrance to the cabin, an array of men and women all armed with various weapons. Some were nearby, easily within striking distance. Some were farther back, their long-ranged weapons at the ready. It was unlikely the three of them would be able to take them all down. But Stiles didn’t care. He was ready to die for his Alpha. Well, his wolf was ready. He would claw, and scratch, and bite until his last breath. He strained his ears, begging for the Alpha’s signal. He yearned for the growl that would signal the moment of attack. 

His plan was already ready. The woman to his immediate left would be first. She had a crossbow aimed directly at Stiles’ heart but she’d be lucky if her finger hit the trigger before Stiles had her throat. The man a little ways behind her would be next. Then, the man back by the treeline. His gun had a scope. It could have been a sniper rifle. It’d be important to take that threat out as quickly as possible. 

Stiles’ hand twitched. His pulse pounded. He was ready. He was ready. _He was ready_. 

“NOT ANOTHER STEP, ALPHA!” a hunter was shouting. He was the leader. Stiles could tell as he brought his eyes to rest on the man in the center of the group. He was tall and burly, but older. His hair had faded to gray and his face was hardened. 

“OR THIS ONE DIES!” the man continued. 

Stiles eyes came to rest at the man’s feet. Collapsed on the ground was a body. It was bound and it was gagged. It was dirty, covered in mud and blood, but it was alive. It was the body of a teenager, an unconscious teenager, an unconscious teenager that Stiles recognized. 

Stiles wasn’t sure whose roar was louder, Derek’s or his own. He stepped forward, snarling. It was his best friend. It was Scott. Scott lying at the foot of a hunter, a double barreled shotgun pointed straight at the boy’s head. 

“This one too,” a female hunter a few yards back spoke up, smiling. She kicked at the limp body lying by her feet. Stiles could make out the curly brown hair and dusty blue jacket that told him it was Isaac. 

“And these,” another man added. The unconscious bodies of Erica and Boyd were at his feet. All had weapons pointed directly at their unprotected skulls. 

Derek howled again. It didn’t take a werewolf to know his roar was pure fury. 

“Name your terms,” he barked to the hunters’ leader. 

** 

Jackson was racing through the trees. The moon overhead was calling to him. He wanted to yell, wanted to scream, wanted to howl up at it but he fought that instinct with all his might. He needed to be stealthy. 

He had abandoned Erica and Boyd hours ago. They had wanted to follow the scent of the hunters into the woods. Jackson had wanted to follow the road. So they went their separate ways. Jackson worked better alone anyway. 

He had heard the Call of the Alpha only a few minutes ago. It wasn’t far away. He could smell the scent of hunters in the air, well more specifically the smell of sweat and gun powder and wolfsbane. He raced towards it. 

He slowed as he approached the small clearing with the cabin. There were hunters all around. They had the place surrounded. Derek and Peter and Stiles were just standing there. _Why were they just standing there?!_

He had already shifted at the sound of the Alpha’s howl minutes before. His wolf was at the ready, his claws sharp and his teeth glistening in the moonlight. He didn’t hesitate. 

The man closest to him didn’t even see him coming. His claws dug into the man’s back and then he was swiping the man’s throat, preventing him from screaming. The woman to his right turned at the sound of the thump as the man’s body hit the ground. 

She gasped and raised her weapon as Jackson pounced. 

Then, she screamed. 

** 

There was no thought to it. It was just instinct. The hunter had turned his head in the direction of the scream. He was distracted and although it was only for a moment, a moment was all that Stiles needed. 

He leapt forward, raising his arms upward and brandishing his claws. The leader of the hunters turned his head back, his pupils doubling in size at the approach of the pouncing werewolf. But Stiles was already there before the man could raise his weapon from where it pointed at Scott’s unconscious body. 

He dug both his hands into the man’s chest, his claws piercing fabric and grazing flesh. He pushed roughly against the man, causing him to fall backwards. As the hunter fell, he released his gun and it tumbled against the ground. Stiles crouched over the body of his best friend, growling protectively. 

The event sent everything in motion. Twitchy hands fired their guns and jumpy werewolves dove towards their nearest targets. The air was pierced by the sounds of shots and howls. 

A bullet pierced Stiles’ shoulder, he wasn’t sure where from. The wound burned. It was hot as fire and the burning was spreading, seeping through his veins. Wolfsbane. 

Another howl ripped through Stiles’ ears. Jackson was hurt. Stiles inched closer to the hunter at his feet who was struggling to crawl backwards away from Stiles. 

There was another howl of pain. It was from Derek. Stiles’ ears twitched at the sound and there was a yearning to change direction but he was too focused on his target. The hunter had backed up against a tree, his hands frantically reaching for his belt, no doubt searching for whatever gun or blade he had sheathed there. 

A third aching howl. Peter was hit. A blinding pain was creeping up Stiles’ leg. He had been hit again but he forced himself to ignore it. His claws had gripped the hunter’s jacket and he was lifting the man upwards along the trunk of the tree. Then, Stiles claws were around the man’s throat, tightening their grip, on the verge of spilling blood. The man was raising his arm, brandishing a blade from under his jacket. It was a feeble effort. Stiles smacked the blade out of the man’s hand easily. He growled in the man’s face, bringing his menacing fangs inches away from the older man’s widening eyes. 

Now was the time to make human words. He focused his concentration and opened his mouth, begging that words came out and not roars and growls. 

“Call…. them off,” he growled out, thankful that the words were at least audible. He tightened his grip around the man’s throat. He figured the man could decipher the consequence for disobeying. 

“I…. I…” the man struggled, motioning at his neck. 

He couldn’t breathe. Stiles loosened his grip on the man’s neck just a tad. It took all his strength to do so. His wolf was seconds away from taking back full control and ripping through the pulsing flesh. He could practically feel the warm, wet liquid spurting out onto his hands. But he forced himself to hold back. 

“Sto…op!” the man said, his voice raised but it was hardly a yell. The battle continued to rage around them. 

“Like you mean it!” Stiles growled, his other hand now pressing sharpened claws roughly against the man’s spleen. 

“STOP! STOP! STOOOOP!” the hunter yelled at the top of his lungs as Stiles pressed his claws firmer and firmer against the man’s torso, each millimeter putting more tension on the skin beneath, skin that was desperately close to breaking. 

For good measure, Stiles lifted his jaws to the moon and let out a blood-curdling howl, the loudest he could muster. 

The commotion all around halted. Stiles wasn’t sure how long it would last or even if this would work but what choice did he have? If the battle continued, it was likely his side would lose. Jackson was already on the ground, clutching his chest where blood was flowing out of a wolfsbane-soaked wound. There were at least two more Stiles could see. Peter was leaning over a fallen hunter, his outstretched claws only inches from the man’s face. He was bleeding from multiple wounds as well. Derek was the closest to Stiles of the three, the two hunters he’d been fighting standing nervously next to him. He had the most wounds of any of them and multiple arrow shafts were peeking out of his various limbs. 

“Now, tell them to pack up and all of you get the hell out of town or else my face will be the last thing you ever see,” Stiles growled at the man. The man’s heartbeat was racing and his pulse banged against Stiles’ firm grip. It felt good to threaten the man but his wolf wanted so much more, wanted to rip through his skin, wanted to tear him apart. 

Stiles could see in the man’s eyes that he was trying to build up his courage, that he wanted to tell his comrades to fight to the death, that he working up the words in is mind and finding the motivation to sacrifice himself for his troops. 

“Don’t be a martyr,” Stiles warned. “It doesn’t have to end like this.” 

“Why not?!” the man huffed through a compressed windpipe. “You’re outnumbered. I may die but so will you and your pack. Others will live on to tell my tale. And more importantly, a pack of _monsters_ will be DEAD!” 

The hunters nearby who could hear the man’s words tightened their grips on their weapons. Stiles only had moments before the battle would recommence and it would surely be a losing fight. 

“Don’t let anymore blood spill on this night,” Stiles urged. His wolf wanted to fight but he didn’t. He wanted to live. He wanted Derek and Scott and Jackson and all of them to live! 

Stiles could see in the man’s eyes that he wasn’t budging. Stiles’ words were futile. He was going to die here tonight. It was of little comfort that he would be able to take this asshole hunter with him. 

He hadn’t heard Peter approach but he had been a little preoccupied with the trembling man beneath his claws, trying his hardest not to rip the man to shreds. Then, Peter was speaking. 

“The boy is right, Alec. You wouldn’t want anymore blood on your hands. And I’m not just talking about those of us in this clearing.” 

“What do you…” the hunter started, his face displaying surprise at the other wolf’s words. 

But Peter interrupted the man. “213 West Market Street, Roaring Falls, Iowa. Amelia, 44, tall with brown hair. Elizabeth, 13, dirty-blonde hair with braces. Robin, 11, long brown hair in a pony tail.” 

And he didn’t stop there. “Hillcrest Residence Hall Room 220, Iowa City, Iowa. George, 19, diving scholarship. 84 Cottonwood Drive, Algona, Iowa. Gertrude, 76, thick glasses and curly white hair. Alec Sr, 77, missing two fingers on his left hand.” 

The hunter’s eyes widened with each name and address. He seemed honestly shocked that Peter would threaten his family in this way, like Peter had betrayed him, like Peter had broken some sacred vow to fight with honor and dignity and this was somehow below the belt. But Stiles didn’t care. He wasn’t opposed to fighting dirty. He smiled as the Alpha’s uncle finished speaking. Now, the hunter didn’t smell of courage and martyrdom but rather of fear and apprehension. 

“Shall I go on?” Peter asked, grinning evilly. 

“How did... you?” the man stammered. Stiles couldn’t help but be impressed with the older wolf. 

“Retreat and your family lives. Fight and well….your loss.” Peter added playfully. 

“But your…. your pack… your whole pack is here,” the man replied. “Once you’re all dead, my family will be safe.” The man tried to sound confident but his scent still reeked of fear. 

“You sure about that?” Peter questioned slyly. Stiles knew the man was probably bluffing. _Probably_. It actually wouldn’t surprise Stiles to find out that Peter had hired someone, maybe human or maybe werewolf, to stalk the hunter’s family members. 

The whole scene of hunters and werewolves was completely on edge. Everyone’s fate was hanging on the hunter leader’s words. 

The scene was eerily silent until finally the man spoke. 

“Fine…” he muttered, practically under his breath. 

“What was that?” Peter questioned, his voice still mocking as he raised a hand to his right ear and turned it in the direction of the hunter. 

“FINE!! STAND DOWN! EVERYONE STAND THE FUCK DOWN!!” 

The hunters around the clearing looked confused, unsure if the man really meant his words, or perhaps unsure if they were actually going to obey them. 

“I MEAN IT! CLEAR OUT!” he bellowed. “And would you let go of my neck, please?!” 

Everything within Stiles told him not to let go of the man’s neck but he reluctantly did so anyway. 

It was an odd thing to watch. The hunters were picking up weapons and helping up their wounded. Stiles wasn’t going to waste any time. They could change their minds at any moment, and they might just do that if and when they ventured into the little cabin and found the two dead bodies. 

Stiles was picking up Scott’s unconscious body, prepared to make a quick getaway. He didn’t really care about the rest of them. Well, he cared, but not as much as he cared about Scott. There were three other unconscious werewolves and three conscious ones to carry them. So Stiles began walking through the trees in the direction of Beacon Hills. He didn’t look back. 

His shoulder was burning. His leg was burning. He ignored them to the best of his ability. They hurt like hell but it could be worse. He carried his best friend through the trees, thanking God or whatever higher power that had kept him alive this night, had kept all of them alive this night. 

** 

Derek limped somberly through the trees. His whole body ached and his wolfsbane-laced wounds burned. When he eventually got back to his house, he’d rub the burnt wolfsbane leaves into his wounds and collapse onto his bed. And then this wretched night would be over. Finally. 

Peter was walking at his side, carrying the limp body of Isaac. He wasn’t dead, just still passed out from whatever chemical the hunters had come up with that can knock a werewolf out but wasn’t fatal and wasn’t wolfsbane. 

Jackson limped along not far behind, being held up by Erica and Boyd. Derek had been thankful when the two had woken up. Jackson had been struggling to hold onto Erica’s body while limping with his wounds and Derek would be lying if he said it wasn’t a relief to let go of Boyd’s limp body and only be forced to hold up his own weight. 

Derek smelled the air, inhaling the scent of the boy who was walking through the forest just out of sight. Stiles was all he wanted to think about. It was the only good thing that had come out of this horrid night. Stiles had kissed him. Stiles had kissed _him_! 

No. He couldn’t get too excited. It didn’t mean anything. Well, not yet. He had to talk to Stiles. Was it a fluke? Spur of the moment? Or did Stiles actually have feelings for Derek too? 

Everything else had been a disaster. He had failed to recognize when the hunters had come into the area in the first place. He had walked right into the hunters’ trap, a trap that he knew was a trap but he had walked into it anyway and gotten himself captured. Then, because Derek hadn’t been there to lead them, the rest of the pack had wandered the woods only to be attacked by the hunters as well. 

And Stiles had rushed through the woods to find Derek incapacitated in the cabin and had killed the two hunters left to guard the place. And in that, Derek had broken the one promise he had made to Stiles, the promise that he wouldn’t let Stiles attack anyone during the full moon. 

Derek slouched as he walked. He had let Stiles down. He had failed him, _again_. And when Stiles was broken and anguished, how had Derek comforted him? By forcing the boy to change to his wolf and fight more hunters. Of course Stiles wouldn’t want to be with him. He’d be lucky if Stiles even talked to him after this. Derek had messed everything up. 

And as if all those mistakes weren’t bad enough, when the showdown between the pack and the hunters finally went down, what did Derek do? He stood back and watched as Stiles and Peter saved the day. Stiles was the one who got the jump on Alec. Peter was the one who had intimidated the man enough for him to order the hunters to retreat. Derek had just fought blindly, hoping that maybe the battle didn’t kill him or any of his wolves. They had saved the pack. Not him. Derek just made things worse. Some Alpha he was turning out to be. 

He stared at the ground as he walked, not even trying to hide the waves of sadness and regret encompassing his scent. 

** 

Isaac stared around the room idly. 

For the number of people crowded into the dusty Hale living room, it was surprisingly quiet. 

He was still groggy and his head ached. Whatever he had been shot with, it was powerful stuff and its effects hadn’t completely resolved. But at least he was awake. At least he was alive. 

A wincing Derek pulled his attention. The Alpha grimaced in pain as Boyd shoved burning wolfsbane petals into one of the man’s many wounds. And he wasn’t the only one. Erica was using both her hands to shove the burning powder into two gaping holes in Jackson’s chest. The young Beta stifled his screams into the curls of a leather belt wedged tightly between his teeth. 

“Sorry,” Erica muttered hesitantly but she didn’t stop. 

Peter was across the room, seated on the pink sofa and barely flinching as he too rubbed the hot powder into a wound across his arm. 

What had happened in his absence? Evidently a lot. He opened his mouth to speak but his aching head couldn’t formulate any words to say and his chalky dry mouth didn’t seem ready to speak anyway. 

Isaac watched the boy in the corner of the room as he quietly worked. Stiles had a damp cloth in his hand and was wiping away dirt and blood from Scott’s forehead. The other Beta was still unconscious but Isaac was thankful at least to learn that he was alive. 

Isaac thought about standing up, about walking over and taking over for Stiles. Then, the other boy could deal with his own wounds which still seemed to be bleeding. He could take care of Scott. And he should take care of Scott. Scott was his friend now. They had hung out nearly every day for the past week and Isaac was really starting to like the guy. He hadn’t had a real friend in God knows how long. He had almost given up on the idea of having one. After his dad had died so violently, the kids at school had kept their distance, making him more of a social recluse than ever. 

But now he had Scott. At least, he thought he did. Looking at the way Stiles cared for his friend, though, Isaac wondered if there was even room in Scott’s life for another friend. Scott and Stiles had always been attached at the hip. If it wasn’t for Stiles’ control training, Scott and Isaac probably never would have started hanging out at all. How long would it be before Stiles reclaimed his monopoly on Scott’s friendship privileges and wedged Isaac out of Scott’s life? By the looks of it, pretty damn soon. Well, he wasn’t going down without a fight. 

He went to stand but even at the thought of moving, his aching muscles refused to obey. He groaned angrily at his body’s defiance. 

A few of the wolves in the room turned at the sound of his moan. 

“You’re awake!” Erica gasped, her face half-heartily smiling. Isaac knew there was probably little reason to smile though. Judging by the appearance of everyone in the room, some morose shit had gone down. He couldn’t pin down whose scent smelled the worst right now, although he’d admit the smells of regret and torment that were coming from Derek were what bothered him the most. 

He groaned again as he willed his limbs to move and sat upwards. 

** 

Stiles collapsed onto the bed next to Scott. It was early in the morning but not late enough for him to head back to his own bed. He had told his dad he was sleeping at Scott’s so that’s where he went. 

His best friend was still groggy but had woken up in Stiles’ arms as he had carried him up the driveway. Stiles had carried Scott the rest of the way to his friend’s bedroom, trying his hardest not to bang his friend’s head against the wall as he snuck up the stairs. 

Stiles was exhausted. He didn’t want to think about the night’s events. He didn’t want to think about tomorrow. He didn’t want to think about his shoulder or his thigh which were both still sore from having burnt wolfsbane petals rubbed in them. 

No, all he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and forget. So he shut his eyes and emptied his mind, a task he usually couldn’t easily accomplish but for some reason was able to do now and he quickly passed out. 

** 

Derek stared blankly at the photo frame in his hands. It was early in the morning and the sun was getting ready to rise but he couldn’t sleep, though he wanted to. He brushed his thumb over the dirty glass, clearing the dust from the two faces in the photo. Two sets of eyes smiled up at him. The man in the photo was his father, tall and strapping, his mixed green and hazel eyes identical to his own. He had been the Alpha back then, a true leader. He was commanding and always knew what to do, the complete opposite of Derek. Derek hadn’t known his father to make as many horrible errors in judgment his whole life as Derek had managed to make in one day. He wished the man was here now. He would know how to fix this situation. He always did. 

The woman in the photo was his mother, slender and beautiful with long, reddish-brown hair and bright blue eyes. Her smile was wide and warm. Derek missed that smile. He stared into her blue eyes. He could almost see the violet spheres in their place, the mark of the Alpha’s mate. His mother and father had been mates all of Derek’s life. They were perfect for each other. They completed each other. Each was the Yin to the other’s Yang. They made love look so easy. 

But for Derek it was anything but. 

He thought he had loved Kate. She had been warm and smart and strong. And she had made him laugh. But it had all been a lie, a terrible lie with a terrible ending. 

So he closed that chapter of his life and vowed to live the rest of his days alone. He could handle being alone. No one could hurt you when you were alone. 

But then Stiles came along. 

And before he could stop it, Stiles had gotten under his skin and Derek found himself loving again. 

For a brief moment in time, maybe thirty seconds at the most, it seemed like maybe Stiles could love him back. He didn’t know how and he didn’t know why but he had woken up in that shack in the woods and Stiles had been there. Stiles had his arms wrapped around Derek’s chest. Stiles had stared deep into his eyes. 

And they had kissed. 

For those handful of moments, everything seemed perfect. And as quickly as the moment had come, it was gone again. 

Now, everything was ruined. The night had been a total disaster. The hunters had taken advantage and made him the fool. He had failed Stiles. He had failed his pack. He had disgraced his position as Alpha. If it hadn’t been for Peter stepping in, they’d probably all be dead or captured. He always considered himself a better Alpha than his uncle had been, thought himself more honorable and more level-headed. But tonight had proven that maybe he wasn’t the Alpha he thought he was. 

And as if he didn’t have enough to worry him, he had had another one of his weird dreams in the cabin. That now put the tally of odd, futuristic romance dreams about Stiles to three. They weren’t bad dreams, to be sure, rather the complete opposite. They were nice dreams, more than nice. But they made no sense and they screwed with his head. They were a distraction and an enigma. Thinking about them made him equally happy as it made him crazy. 

They were dreams, right? Even though they felt so real and didn’t have the foggy haziness or lack of detail that normal dreams usually had? 

They couldn’t be premonitions, could they? Tiny glimpses into a future between him and Stiles? A future where Stiles is his mate? 

No. 

That couldn’t be right. Not after tonight. Not after Derek had broken his promise to Stiles. That much was sure. 

It was more likely these dreams were a punishment. A torment that’d he’d have to endure, glimpses into a future that could never be, a life he could never have. That’s how Derek’s life worked. The world gave him hope and then swiped it away, laughing in his face. 

He returned the photograph to the nightstand drawer where he kept it hidden beneath a pile of old papers and a red notebook. He laid back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. 

What should he do now? What could he do now? 

Everything was fucked up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comment below!


	11. Changing Tides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt bad about making you guys wait so long for Chapter 10 so I hustled to get Chapter 11 done and posted. Luckily, a few of the scenes I had pre-written ages ago and I'm excited that it's finally time to use them. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

Lydia jerked awake as a shiver coursed down her body. She looked to her right at her open window with its delicate, lace curtains gently blowing in the early morning breeze. The sun was just peaking over the horizon. She pulled her blanket tight over her shoulders as she turned away from the window and clamped her eyes shut.

Then, she remembered that she had closed her window before she went to bed. 

Her eyes burst open as her heartbeat suddenly doubled its rate. 

She looked around her room desperately. Through the dim light filling the room, she couldn’t make out any figures. 

_It was probably just Jackson checking in on me_ , she thought to herself. It wouldn’t be the first time Jackson used his werewolf prowess to sneak quietly through her window. Sure, he usually texted first and yes, he usually made his presence known with a gentle kiss on her cheek or forehead. But maybe he just saw how peaceful she had been in her slumber and decided to slip back out her window. 

Yes. That must be it. 

She had just calmed herself down and closed her eyes again when she heard the creak of her closet door. 

A man’s voice pierced the quiet room. 

“No need to be alarmed…” it said. 

Lydia had jumped out of her bed in a flash and ripped the lamp off her nightstand as she cowered in the corner and brandished it as a weapon. She looked around the room for the source of the voice as she opened her mouth to scream. 

Barely a gasp had left her lips before a hand was there to cover it. The man had leapt from her closet, the door swinging roughly in his wake, and had crossed the room faster than her eyes could track. She struggled against the man’s grip, pulling at his wrist with her arms and forcefully blowing air against his hardened palm in an attempt to yell out. 

“Like I said, no need to be alarmed.” 

This time, Lydia recognized the sly voice of Derek’s uncle. She let her arms fall to her sides, begrudgingly admitting defeat. 

The man lifted his hand off Lydia’s mouth and stepped back. He pulled the lamp from her trembling hands and set it back down on the nightstand before clicking it on. In the glow of the lamp, Lydia could make out the full form of the creepy man standing in her room. His black jacket, dark jeans, and rough appearance looked completely out of place among the light pink walls, white furniture, and feminine decorations filling the room. 

“What do you want?! Why are you in my room in the middle of the night? I could have you arrested, you know,” Lydia barked angrily as she wrapped her fluffy white robe over her pajamas. 

“I’m here to help you,” Peter replied, his hands crossed behind his back. He was still standing eerily close to Lydia. It made her uncomfortable. Most things about the man made her uncomfortable. Flashbacks of nightmares and hallucinations poked at her mind. Yes, this man was bad news and Lydia didn’t trust him. 

“Help me how?” Lydia asked scathingly. 

“I’m going to help you get all your little friends back,” the man replied, his creepy smile widening. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Sure you do,” Peter snapped. “Scott, Stiles, all of them. And, of course, _Jackson_.” The man placed particular emphasis on the last name. “You know what they are. Don’t pretend it doesn’t bother you, doesn’t frighten you. I’m telling you I’m going to help you get your friends back… back to _normal_.” 

“I… uh…” Lydia stuttered. “I don’t believe you.” She tried to make her voice sound confident. She wasn’t used to sounding timid. She hated that her voice sounded that way now. 

“I don’t care what you _believe_ ,” the man said, his voice becoming more aggressive, edging on anger. “If I had asked you one year ago, ‘do you believe in werewolves?’ what would you have said? Hmm? I’m telling you I can help you. I’m telling you there’s a cure.” 

None of this was making sense. Now Lydia was getting angry. 

“I don’t care. If you have a cure, great! Go talk to Scott, talk to Jackson, talk to any of them. Give them your cure. There’s no excuse for you to be here in my room in the middle of the night like some kind of stalker. What do I even have to do with any of this?” 

The man stepped forward towards her. She stepped back instinctively, her legs bumping into the nightstand behind her and her rear end almost toppling over the small lamp atop it. 

“Because _you’re_ the cure!” the man said, his eyes wide and his voice intense. 

“Wha-what are you talking about?” Lydia stammered, regaining little of her composure. 

“You, Lydia. You’re it. Last year, you were bitten by a werewolf, bitten by an Alpha. I recall the event… _vivdly_.” The man flashed his teeth as he emphasized the word. “You were bitten but didn’t turn. Did you ever think _why?_ Did you ever consider what about you could be so special that a bite from an Alpha would have no effect?” 

“I… I never thought about it,” Lydia lied. She had thought about it a lot after it had happened. She had wondered, had worried, had suppressed nightmares. But that was all in the past. That was over. She was fine and everything was fine. Why was Peter bringing all this up? Why couldn’t he leave her alone? 

“Well, it’s time to think about it,” the man sneered. He stepped forward again. The space between them was miniscule. His voice became hushed but was hot in her ears. 

“Think about it, Lydia. Think about life without werewolves. Everyone is human again. Your friend, Scott, who cries himself to sleep over the girl who left him, the girl who could never love him because of what he is, because they are sworn enemies. He’d get to be with the one he loves, he’d be happy. And your friend Stiles, who was turned against his will because he was on the brink of death, a situation he’d never be in if it weren’t for werewolves. He wouldn’t have to worry about losing control every full moon, wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally killing his father, the only family he has left. He would be normal again, something he wishes for now more than anything.” 

Lydia’s eyes widened as Peter spoke. She listened intently, not interrupting as the man continued. 

“And think of Jackson, _your_ Jackson. Think of how it would be to have him human again, to not quiver every time his hands wrap around your waist, knowing that just beneath the surface are claws that could tear you limb from limb. To not tremble every time his lips touch yours, knowing that if he gets too aroused, his sharp biting fangs would be millimeters from your soft, silky flesh. They’d all be healed, Lydia, lifted of their curse. And they’d have you to thank. You can save them, Lydia. You can cure them.” 

Silence held heavy in the air in the seconds following the man’s speech. Lydia’s eyes narrowed, her mouth tightened. This time, there was no tremble to her voice. 

“What do I do?” 

** 

The shifting in the bed next to him shook Stiles awake. He opened his eyes reluctantly. Morning sunlight was pouring in through the window and the sounds of summer could be heard in the distance. Scott’s room was messy with piles of clothes and papers strewn about the furniture and floor. As he sat up, Stiles looked to his friend who was crossing the room. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” Scott said. “Had to go to the bathroom.” 

“It’s okay. I should be going anyway,” Stiles replied as he stifled a yawn. 

“Wait. You can’t leave yet. We haven’t talked about last night. I still have no idea how I got from lying in the woods to waking up in my bed! You need to explain!” Scott stammered, determined eyes trying to guilt Stiles into submission. 

“Can we do it later? I just want to go home,” Stiles said, his voice defeated. He should be able to empathize with Scott, he knew he should. It wasn’t that long ago that he, Stiles, was waking up in a bed with no recollection of how he got there and Scott was there to give him answers. He should be willing to reciprocate for his friend. But Stiles was drained, both emotionally and physically. The few hours of rest had done nothing for that. 

He could hear Mrs. McCall stirring in the kitchen below so rather than heading for Scott’s bedroom door, he headed instead to the window. This way he could avoid awkward pleasantries with his friend’s mom. He lifted the window and put his first foot through. 

“Sorry, pal. Talk later,” he said as he climbed the rest of the way through. 

He hopped off the roof and made his way across the lawn to his jeep. Though Scott had only said the word under his breath and there was a good deal of distance between his friend’s bedroom and the jeep, Stiles could still hear it perfectly. 

“Jerk.” 

He felt guilty about abandoning his friend but on the long list of things that were making Stiles feel guilty right now, leaving Scott answerless was pretty far down. He started up the jeep and drove off. 

** 

Stiles awoke in his own bed a few hours later, feeling rested but not feeling better. It was mid-afternoon and though he probably could just crawl up into a ball and never leave his bed again, he could also hear his dad moving around downstairs. It was his dad’s day off and due to pack training, Stiles had spoken barely three words to the man over the past few days so he got up begrudgingly and made his way down to see his dad. 

“Morning, sleepy-head,” his dad chuckled as Stiles entered the living room where the man was watching TV and snacking on some potato chips. Stiles’ eyes narrowed at the sight of the junk food. 

His dad took notice, defending himself before Stiles had even said anything. “Day off, Stiles. I’m allowed to have a few chips.” 

Stiles nodded sullenly, refusing to press the issue as he slumped down next to his father. 

“Why the long face, Stiles?” his dad asked, genuinely concerned. Stiles wanted to break down, wanted to tell his dad everything, wanted to spill out the emotions that tormented his mind just so he’d have someone to hug him tight and tell him everything was going to be alright. 

“Just tired,” Stiles lied. He faked a yawn. “Up late playing video games with Scott.” 

His dad looked at him inquisitively but seemed to accept the lie as truth. 

“Well, I was thinking of heading to the driving range today. You should come along. It’ll be fun,” his dad said. It was true that smacking golf balls at the driving range was a pastime of theirs, though they hadn’t gone together since last summer. 

“Maybe stop at Honker Burger afterwards?” his dad added. Stiles had to admit his father knew him well. The curly fries from Honker Burger were legendary and were Stiles’ favorite food. 

“Alright, let’s do it!” he responded, his mood picking up at the thought of a few hours break from werewolves and hunters and all the shit that went with it. Plus, hello, curly fries. 

** 

Stiles’ bucket of balls was a little past halfway empty. It had been great idea, at first, going to the driving range with his dad. He knew that his werewolf strength was enough to drive the small golf balls to kingdom come so he intentionally repressed any and all werewolf power boosts as he swung his club. That wasn’t the problem. 

The problem was that driving golf balls was a relatively silent event. Besides the occasional “nice shot” or “good one, son,” there wasn’t much talking. He and his father were each too preoccupied with lining up their own shots and perfecting their own swinging techniques to carry on a conversation for very long. That left too much free time for Stiles to be alone with his thoughts. 

He lined up another shot as the previous night’s events replayed in his mind. 

The sight of the two dead hunters in the cabin was an image that Stiles thought might never be un-burned from his brain. There was just so much blood surrounding the fallen men with their faces frozen and their lifeless bodies still warm to the touch. And Stiles was to blame. Well, _Stiles’ wolf_ was to blame. He was a monster. No, his wolf was a monster. His wolf was the killer, not him. He didn’t even know if the distinction was necessary anymore. His wolf wasn’t a separate person. His hands had done the killing. And a killer was a killer, werewolf or not. 

Stiles didn’t know why attacking these two hunters weighed so much more heavily on his mind than when he had shot at the hunter in the barn back in Iowa. Maybe it was because he didn’t actually know if that hunter had died. That man had carried her out of the room, probably rushed her to a hospital. Maybe she made it. But there was no doubt at all that the two hunters in the cabin had died. Stiles had confirmed that himself afterwards. 

Maybe it was because the first time he was in control of himself, in control of his actions. He had rushed into that compound with the intention to attack, maybe not kill, but definitely attack. He had made the conscious decision, the conscious _human_ decision, to fire that gun. In the cabin, however, he wasn’t in control of himself or his actions. His wolf had rushed in, his wolf had decided the hunters were threats, and his wolf had killed each of them without a second thought. Would the human Stiles have done anything different? He wanted to think he would have. 

Maybe it was just the savagery of the whole thing that bothered him most. There was something about slicing another human’s throat, slicing another human’s throat with your bare hands (bare claws, whatever) that felt innately wrong. Surely, his wolf could have devised some other way to diminish the two threats besides just swiping through their jugulars. 

Reasons aside, Stiles felt more guilt about this than he’d felt about anything else he’d ever done. He almost felt like vomiting. 

He set another golf ball on the tee. 

Then, there was Derek. He had kissed Derek. _He had kissed mother freaking Derek Hale!_ Seriously, what the heck was wrong with him? As if it wasn’t weird enough that his wolf knew exactly where to go to find Derek in the first place. What six wolves wandering around for hours couldn’t accomplish, Stiles was able to do single-handedly in a matter of minutes. He had found the Alpha. But he hadn’t sniffed him out or used any other werewolf sense to find him. His wolf just _knew_ where to go and took him there involuntarily. It made absolutely no sense. 

And then he had cradled the Alpha, which was equally weird. But if that had been all he had done, Stiles thought he could get over it. He could chuck it all up to some weird Beta instinct to protect its Alpha and forget all about it. But he hadn’t just cradled Derek, he had kissed him. _Why had he kissed him?!_

A crack sounded as he hit that ball just a little too hard. It went way farther across the driving range than his others had. 

“Wow! Great shot, Stiles!” his dad commended. 

“Uh… thanks,” he replied, sighing in relief that he hadn’t put his full strength behind it. That would have been difficult to explain. He teed up another ball. 

Was he gay? He had never considered himself gay before. Anyone with eyes could see that Derek was attractive but just because he had noticed Derek was attractive didn’t mean he’d ever been _attracted_ to him. His only real attraction in the past decade had been to Lydia. His love for Lydia had been tried and true and last time he checked, Lydia was a girl. That made him straight. 

But he knew that even now, the thought of kissing Derek again did kinda turn him on. And by kinda he meant totally did. So, did that make him bisexual? Well, if he’d had feelings for guys, it’d make more sense that they would have showed up long before this. But week after week, he had changed in a locker room full of relatively attractive, half-nude lacrosse players and hadn’t felt the least bit attracted to any of them. But maybe he just never noticed his attraction to hot guys because he’d been so hell-bent on winning over Lydia. Maybe he’d just been so obsessed with the girl that he’d denied himself access to his true sexuality all along. Could that happen? Or maybe he was just a late bloomer, you know gay-wise. Nothing about this seemed to make any sense. 

Or maybe just his wolf was gay. A straight human with a gay inner wolf. Was that even a real thing? It kinda made sense, in one of those “once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth” sort of ways. So his wolf was gay, gay for Derek. 

No, that couldn’t be right. He couldn’t keep separating himself and his wolf as two different people, as two separate identities. It sounded too much like someone with Multiple Personality Disorder. Wait! Maybe he had Multiple Personality Disorder and one of personalities was gay! Okay, now he was truly being ridiculous. 

No, Derek had told him in one of their training sessions that one’s human side and wolf side were like two sides of the same coin, not quite the same but not entirely separate either. So if he didn’t have a psychological disorder and he didn’t have a gay wolf trapped inside a straight human’s body, then _why had he kissed Derek? And why did he want to do it again and again and again?!_

Fuck, this was confusing. 

** 

When Stiles returned home that evening, his head hurt. His stomach at least, was happy as could be. He used to believe curly fries could cure any ailment but his faith in that mantra was growing thin. 

He grabbed his phone from his nightstand. He had intentionally left it there all day while he was out, refusing to answer any calls or texts from anyone. The thought at the time was to have a relaxing day without stress but it turned out that hope was in vain. His frantic, confused, ADHD-raddled mind made sure to that. 

He had six missed texts. The first three were from Scott. 

_Hang later?_

_Hey, you awake? Talk soon?_

_Um… hello?!_

The fourth was from Isaac. 

_Hey, man. You okay?_

The fifth was from Scott again. 

_Isaac filled me in on last night. Can we talk?_

The last one was from Derek. 

_Pack meeting. Dusk._

Of course there’d be a pack meeting. Why would we let the poor, exhausted Stiles have one day off from wolfy business when we could just make him come to meetings every single day? He looked out his bedroom window. The sun was already starting to set. He had just enough time to get in his jeep and make the drive over to the Hale house. 

His phone buzzed in his hands. 

Scott again. 

_Getting a ride with Isaac. See you at Derek’s. Hope you’re okay._

He exhaled deeply and then turned around to head back downstairs. Time to lie to his dad again. 

** 

Derek and Peter stood in the old kitchen of the Hale house. It was nowhere close to being restored to its former glory but Derek had cleared out most of the debris, fixed the piping so that the sink had running water, and had a small mini-fridge hooked up in the corner so that he and Isaac could at least store food in the place. His next task was the cabinets but that wasn’t why Peter and Derek were here now. 

“I think it would be prudent,” Peter was saying. “if we kept tabs on the hunters for awhile. At least long enough until we can be sure they won’t return for a second strike. There’s no guarantees that they won’t come back.” 

Derek nodded. The idea had crossed his own mind at least once when he wasn’t beating himself up about the previous night’s events. 

“Well, like you saw last night, I am rather familiar with this clan.” Peter continued. “I’ve been doing my research ever since you told me it was the Fanghers that had attacked the Betas. I know where they hide out. I’d like to volunteer for the task. I’ll keep an eye on them until we can be sure we’re safe.” 

Derek didn’t like how Peter’s tone was just ever so commanding, ever so decisive, like the man had already made up his mind on this plan of action. Derek was the Alpha. Derek was the decision maker. Derek would make the plan. But he guessed he could give Peter a break on this one. The guy had just saved all their asses. And Derek hadn’t exactly proven his finesse for plan-making skills when it came to these hunters. 

“Okay,” Derek agreed. “You’ll leave tonight after the meeting. Report back regularly on the hunters’ activities. When I’m sure the threat has passed, you’ll come back.” 

“Fine by me,” Peter said, smirking. 

“Good,” Derek said, attempting to sound authoritative, like a real Alpha should. He knew he wasn’t a great Alpha and probably not even a good one, but not playing the part was an invitation for disloyalty. And he wasn’t going down that road again. 

The sun was beginning to go down. Soon it’d be time for the meeting. He’d have to face his pack. He’d have to face Stiles. 

** 

Stiles turned the key, silencing his engine after parking outside the Hale house. He took a deep breath and gave himself an internal pep talk. 

_Okay. Don’t think about Derek. Don’t think about the dead hunters. Just make it through this meeting. You can do it. You can do this._

He walked up the creaking steps, entered the old door, and made his way to the living room. He didn’t think people actually had assigned seats for these things but all the teens were arranged the same way they had been at the last pack meeting. Scott and Isaac were on the green sofa and there was a gap in the same spot Stiles had sat last time. Boyd, Erica, and Lydia were arranged the same way they were last time and Jackson was sitting on the armrest beside Lydia. 

Erica looked up as he entered the room. Their eyes met and he returned her smile. As he walked to his spot, Jackson’s eyes met his. The other Beta gave him a slight nod. It seemed a little out of character. All he’d ever received from Jackson before were glaring eyes and snarky remarks. All the same, he nodded back to the other wolf as he sat down. 

Scott spoke immediately as he sat down, as Stiles figured he would. 

“Dude, you alright?” Scott asked. 

“Yea, fine, fine. Sorry about the missed texts. I left my phone home to charge,” Stiles answered. The lie was already out by the time he realized his mistake. Even he could detect the slight tic in his heartbeat as the words left his lips. Scott’s eyes narrowed. The lie was about the phone needing to be charged but he knew Scott would think he was lying about being fine. But he wasn’t lying about being fine. At least, he didn’t think he was. Well, maybe a little. 

“Forget it,” Stiles added. “Please.” 

His friend nodded. Their conversation ended then, however, because the footsteps announcing the arrival of the last two werewolves hit their ears. 

Derek and Peter entered the living room, each one stepping to the same spots they’d been standing in the previous night. Seriously, was there a seat assignment chart floating around that Stiles missed out on? 

“Good evening,” Derek started as he addressed the pack. Stiles could almost chuckle at how ridiculous pleasantries sounded in Derek’s firm, growly, Alpha voice. 

Derek stood in front of the broken fireplace, arms crossed, and silently swept his eyes across the room, looking at each member of his pack before continuing. His eyes met Stiles’. As they locked, hazel-greens meeting bright coppers, something inside Stiles stirred. It was his wolf and it _purred_ beneath his skin, making his whole body feel fuzzy. He didn’t actually purr out loud, of course. _That_ would be embarrassing. But within his mind it was a different story. There was a warmth and a tingling that seemed to flash like lightning throughout his whole body. The tingling was gone just as fast as it had come as Derek’s eyes swept to Scott and then Isaac quickly before the Alpha continued speaking. 

“I don’t think a play by play of last night’s events is necessary at this time. I’m sure you’ve all recounted the tale to each other since last night but if you have questions, I’ll be available after the meeting to speak with any of you.” 

Derek’s eyes met Stiles’ again as the Alpha said the part about “if you have questions,” and Stiles figured it was not by accident. As their eyes held each other’s gaze, another shiver coursed through each and every nerve as his wolf purred beneath his skin and clawed at his brain. 

_In your dreams_ , Stiles thought to himself. He wouldn’t be talking to Derek about this. Not now, anyway. He could barely get his thoughts about last night straight in his own mind let alone communicate them with someone else, least of all Derek. 

“The point of the matter,” Derek continued. “is that we all survived and the hunters retreated.” 

_No thanks to you_ , Stiles thought. His wolf whined in his mind. Apparently Stiles wasn’t allowed to have any animosity towards the guy without his wolf whining. _Great_ ….he thought. 

“Now we have to talk about what we’re going to do next.” Derek said. “First, we need to keep track of the hunters’ movements and make sure they aren’t planning a rematch. Peter has volunteered to track the hunters back to Iowa and keep an eye on them until we can be sure they are no longer a threat.” 

That seemed to make sense to Stiles. Best to know everything they could about their enemy’s activities. And Peter had made it clear he knew a lot about the hunter clan already, though Stiles didn’t know where the guy got all his information from. As long as Stiles wasn’t the one traipsing off to Iowa to spy on a bunch of hunters, he was content with the plan. 

“Furthermore,” Derek continued. “we as a pack must be prepared in case they do decide to come back so we’ll be continuing training sessions every other night.” 

Stiles groaned at the thought. Sure, the sessions had improved his fighting skills but he didn’t want to improve his fighting skills. He didn’t want to fight. He wanted to lock his wolf in a box and forget about it. He wanted to spend his nights sleeping and he wanted to spend his days worrying about anything else besides hunters. 

“Questions?” Derek asked. 

Derek’s eyes again met Stiles’. A shiver coursed through his body once again as his wolf purred beneath his skin. And man, _that_ was getting freaking annoying. 

“Dismissed,” Derek announced. The word had barely left the Alpha’s mouth before Stiles was up from his seat and coursing towards the door. He was in his jeep before anyone else had even exited the house. The engine roared to life and he booked it down the forest road. 

He tried to think of anything else as he made his way home but neither scanning the treeline for deer nor cranking up the stereo nor tapping his fingers violently on the steering wheel could keep his mind from its focus. 

All he could think about was Derek. The way the Alpha’s crossed arms made his veins swell from his wrists to his shoulders, the way his deltoids and biceps and pecs all gently bulged as he clenched his hands against each other, the way all his skin seemed to gleam in the lamplight, the way his jaw clenched as he paused between sentences, the way his mouth moved and his lips danced as he formed his words, the way his legs held firm the whole time he spoke without bending or shifting his weight. And the way each and every single one of these details turned Stiles on to no end. 

He was nearly choking on the smell of his own arousal. 

He rolled down the windows but it was no use. 

He sped off towards his house, promising himself over and over that he would _not_ touch himself tonight while thinking about Derek. He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, some disclaimers:
> 
> First off, this was probably the most difficult chapter for me to write thus far. I knew from the beginning that I wanted to keep the characters as authentic as I could and part of that meant that I couldn't just go down the "Stiles is gay/Stiles is bi" route as a given and just have Stiles drooling over Derek from the get-go before he's even bitten. (Not that I have anything against stories that do that because it's kind of a pain in the ass forcing a character to face his own confused sexuality.)
> 
> I think canon Stiles might be/could become a gay/bi character (guess we'll see when season 3 comes out!) but regardless, in this story, the only way for it to feel authentic is for him to struggle with all his new feelings for Derek. And struggle he does.
> 
> That being said, hopefully you enjoyed the chapter and can kind of see what's going to be happening next (hint: STEREK STEREK AND MORE STEREK!)
> 
> PS: don't forget about the scene between Lydia and Peter! It is going to play a major role as the story continues but not for a few chapters so be on the lookout.
> 
> Ok that's enough, thanks so much for reading my story (and this disclaimer) and please comment below!!!


	12. Firsts

Derek knew they were at a crossroads. Things had gotten increasingly more complicated between him and Stiles and he knew that if they didn’t talk, if they didn’t get everything out in the open, there was a chance it’d all be ruined. Ruined worse than it already was.

But just because he knew that they needed to talk didn’t mean he had any idea what to say. 

He stared at the phone in his hands. The text cursor flickered in the corner of his blank text message, flashing at him tauntingly as he struggled with what to write. This was new territory for Derek. He didn’t express feelings, he didn’t console troubled teens, and he most certainly didn’t tell people that he loved them. But he would do any and all of it for Stiles. 

That was, of course, assuming Stiles would let him. The boy had darted out of that room like an Olympic sprinter at the sound of the gun. Maybe Stiles didn’t want to hear from Derek. Maybe Stiles never wanted to talk to Derek again. Maybe things really were as bad as Derek imagined. 

Derek knew these swarming thoughts were just a diversion from the task at hand. He needed to write something, needed to say _something_. He wouldn’t be able to sleep otherwise. 

He stopped pacing and sat on his bed, the phone still in his hands. He tentatively typed the words. 

_Stiles, I know you must be upset. Maybe we can get together sometime and talk about it._

He backspaced the words immediately. They sounded awful. He tried again. 

_Stiles, you sure did hustle out of that meeting tonight. Can we talk?_

He backspaced the words again, exhaling in frustration. How should he word it? Maybe keep it simpler. 

_Stiles, I’m sorry._

There, short and to the point. But it didn’t really invite conversation. He backspaced again. 

_Are you okay?_

Wrong again. Stiles’ default answer to “are you okay?” has always been “yea, fine.” He had learned that much on the car trip back from Iowa. More backspacing. 

_Stiles, I’m sorry about what happened. I hope you’re okay. I think we should talk._

He looked at the words on his phone. It was basically just a jumble of all his previous attempts but it seemed to get the message across. And if he didn’t send this text now, he’d probably not send any at all. So he mustered up his courage and hit the “send” button. 

Then he waited. 

** 

Stiles’ phone buzzed on his nightstand. He knew he should ignore it, he really did, but against his better judgment, he reached across the space between his bed and his nightstand and picked up the phone. 

The text was from Derek. His stomach was suddenly in his throat. The text could be a thousand different things. So much had happened between him and Derek in the last 48 hours. He didn’t want to know what the Alpha had to say now. He also wanted to know more than anything. 

He clicked the message and read the words. Then, he read them again. Then, a third time. 

Derek was sorry? Sorry about what? About the two dead hunters in the cabin? That was Stiles’ fault, not Derek’s. About the kiss? Again, that was Stiles’ fault. Sorry about running headfirst into a trap? Now, that was something Derek could feel sorry about. 

And Derek wanted him to be okay. Of course he did. Everyone wanted Stiles to be okay. God forbid anyone in this universe wasn’t okay during every second of every day. 

And Derek wants to talk. Stiles wants to talk too. Stiles always talks. It’s kinda his thing. But Stiles doesn’t think a conversation with Derek right now would go very well. Not if Derek knew the real reason Stiles rushed out of that meeting or if Derek knew about Stiles’ thoughts, his terrible, dirty, Derek-related thoughts. 

Stiles debated whether to return the message at all. He toyed with the phone in his hands. A minute passed. Then, another. And a few more. 

He finally decided on a reply. If Derek was going to be nonspecific and kind of cryptic, Stiles would be too. 

_I forgive you for being you. I’m fine, thanks for asking. You know I love talking._

He sent the text and then immediately regretted it. Did it sound too snarky? Was he being an asshole? Sure, Derek won the “Asshole of the Year” award a long time ago so anything Stiles said now would be a drop in the bucket but the guy was obviously trying here so maybe Stiles should try too… 

A few minutes passed with no response from Derek. Then, a few more. Stiles started to worry. Maybe he _had_ been too snarky. It wasn’t as if things between him and Derek weren’t already tense enough. And he just had to go and make it worse. 

He was going to give up and try going to sleep when the phone finally buzzed. He picked up the phone in an instant. 

_Do you regret it?_

Stiles stared at the words, annoyed. Did Derek think he was being clever or did he just love being cryptic? They both knew what Derek was talking about but seriously? The big, bad Alpha couldn’t even bring himself to acknowledge the elephant in the room, couldn’t even type the word “kiss?” Well, if Derek wanted to battle wits, he chose the wrong opponent. 

Stiles typed quickly. If Derek wanted to be cryptic, that was fine. Stiles would just have to play dumb. 

_Was my freak out in the cabin not evidence enough? Of course I regret killing the hunters._

He sent the message and tossed his phone on the nightstand before burying his face deep into his pillows, desperately trying to shut out the world, both the one around him and the one swirling in his brain. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin in shock, frantically turning in his bed, pulse quickening. Of course, he would be the one werewolf in history that could actually be sneaked up on. Defective werewolf, through and through. 

He sat up in his bed, turning his gaze upon the trespasser. Derek stood near the open window that he’d clearly just entered through. The moonlight illuminated him where he stood in his leather jacket, completely off-season, a black t-shirt, and jeans. His arms were at his sides and his eyes rested on Stiles. They were warmer than Stiles was used to, inquisitive, hopeful even. 

“What did you mean, then?” Stiles asked, still playing dumb. 

“Do you regret…” Derek said softly. “…that I…” His voice was softer still. “…kissed you?” The last two words were barely audible. 

Stiles knew he could get away with either answer. He had been so confused over the last day that he wasn’t sure if he actually regretted the kiss or not and he knew that whether he answered “yes” or “no,” his heartbeat wouldn’t give him away. Neither answer would really be a lie. 

But his inner wolf was racing and twirling beneath his skin. His fingers and toes were tingling and he suddenly felt ten degrees hotter than he did a moment before. Derek wasn’t angry, he wasn’t scolding, wasn’t trying to sweep the situation under the rug. He was here, he was _here_ in Stiles’ bedroom, eyes wide and questioning, hanging on Stiles’ next word. 

His brain was suddenly riding a roller coaster, thoughts screaming with each descent. Derek was here asking if Stiles regretted their kiss, basically asking if Stiles liked him, like _liked him_ liked him, and was hopeful. Was hopeful for what? That Stiles would say yes! Derek liked Stiles! And Stiles liked Derek! Well, _Stiles’ wolf_ liked Derek…. Oh fuck it, Stiles liked Derek! He couldn’t blame the wolf for the feelings he was having, although he couldn’t disregard the thing entirely because right now his wolf was jumping for joy underneath his skin. It was practically howling in his head: _Pounce! Kiss! Claim!_

“No, I don’t regret it,” Stiles whispered, his cool composure hiding the hurricane inside his head. 

That was all Derek needed. He was across the room in an instant and then he was on Stiles’ bed and both his hands were on Stiles’ face and he was pulling Stiles forward and then they were kissing. Stiles was in shock as Derek’s lips first met his. _They were kissing!_

The man’s lips were brushing up against his own, tenderly pressing and retracting. The small hairs of the man’s stubble were grazing over Stiles’ smooth skin, gently itching as they went. The initial shock quickly subsided and Stiles was moving his lips too, matching the motions of the other man. 

He didn’t quite know what to do with his hands but they felt awkward just sitting in his lap, especially when compared to Derek who was still holding Stiles’ face firmly in place, as if refusing to ever let him go. He brought his hands to the collar of Derek’s jacket and gripped each flap of leather roughly in his fists, pulling the material towards himself and letting the other man know that he was just as invested in this kiss as Derek was. He closed his eyes instinctively and let himself fall into the kiss, his first real kiss. Well, okay, it was his second kiss but it was the first one he’d ever participated in of his own free will and _Oh, God_ , a shiver just coursed up Stiles’ spine as Derek moved one of his hands to the small arch of Stiles’ lower back and was pulling him forward, pressing their bodies roughly into each other. 

Derek’s tongue was invading his mouth and he let it, matching the movements with his own. He inhaled deeply. Derek’s scent was hot in his nose, warm doughnuts and burning whiskey and the hot musk of arousal. The smell turned him on even more. His wolf was howling. It was only with all the control he could muster that he was able to keep the beast down and prevent it from bursting forth, taking control of his body, and _actually_ howling like he’d never howled before. And he couldn’t let that happen. His father was asleep just two rooms away. 

They continued to kiss passionately, their tongues and lips and hands exploring each other for minutes on end. Eventually, the kiss began to slow, as did their breathing, and their heartbeats. Finally, after both of them were fully satisfied with the results of their make-out session, they pulled their lips apart and opened their eyes. Derek held his face there for a moment, just an inch from Stiles’, his breath still warm against Stiles’ cheek. Derek’s eyes were red, the crimson red of the Alpha, but in a way that Stiles had never seen before. Those red eyes had always held anger and rage within them, because of which Stiles had always shuddered when he saw them. Now, though, they were so warm and loving, it almost made Stiles do a double-take. As the crimson spheres began to fade, the shimmering peridot ones took their place. They were just as beautiful. 

They eyed each other for a moment silently, breathing in and out, as the smell of arousal slowly dissipated in the air around them. Stiles broke the silence. 

“So, I guess you didn’t regret it either, huh?” 

Derek chuckled. “No, I guess I didn’t,” he replied. 

The older man shifted his body and began rising off of Stiles’ bed. Stiles grabbed his arm. 

“Hey, wait. Shouldn’t we… you know… talk about this or something?” he questioned. 

“We will,” Derek replied. “Tomorrow, when I pick you up for our first date.” 

“Our first what?” Stiles asked, jaw dropping. 

Derek just smiled greedily as he made his way to the window and hopped through. 

** 

Stiles woke up the next morning with the biggest smile on his face. 

There were so many things that could weigh on his mind right now, could dampen his high, could send him back into the swirling whirlpool of unanswered questions and confusion that he had been sulking in only one day before. But he didn’t think about all that. For once in his life, his defective, sporadic brain focused on one thing and one thing only. 

_Derek._

He had kissed Derek! And Derek had kissed him! And he had a date tonight! A friggin date! A friggin date with Derek friggin Hale!! 

He hummed to himself as he waltzed down the stairs and into the kitchen. He did a little dance to the tunes in his head as he waited for his pizza rolls to cook. He would seriously never get sick of pizza rolls. 

He flipped on the TV and was pleasantly surprised to find an old episode of _The Office_. He was even more pleasantly surprised, no flabbergasted actually, when he realized the scene that was playing was the one where Jim asks Pam out for the first time in the conference room. 

_“Pam?” Jim asks, as he bursts open the door to the conference room. “Um, are you free for dinner tonight?”_

_“Yes,” Pam answers softly, still a little taken aback by Jim’s sudden entrance and proposition._

_“Alright. Then, it’s a date,” Jim replies, smirking._

_Pam stares into the camera wide-eyed and wide-smiled, all her dreams instantly coming true._

It couldn’t be a coincidence, right? The morning after Derek asks him out, the episode where Stiles’ favorite couple, his dream couple, _finally_ lets their feelings for each other take over and Jim asks Pam out, is playing on TV? 

It had to be a sign, right? A cosmic hint that he and Derek were the real-life version of Jim and Pam, were just as meant to be. Or was Stiles’ high making him just that, high and delusional? 

But who was Jim and who was Pam in this relationship? Stiles had always kind of identified with Jim as a character. They were both lanky, both kinda weird, and quirky. And they were both the jokesters of the group. And Derek had always been the pretty one that lurked from afar, kinda like how Pam sits behind her desk at reception, away from everyone else. 

Okay, maybe there was no way in hell that Stiles could be considered the “man” of the relationship when stacked up side-by-side with Derek Hale. The guy practically defined the word “manly.” And Derek _had_ been the one to ask Stiles out so unexpectedly, just as Jim had asked Pam out so unexpectedly. And Pam was the one who had been engaged to another man, kinda like how Stiles had been “engaged” to the idea of him and Lydia ending up together. And he’d be lying if the smile he had on his face when he looked in the bathroom mirror this morning didn’t kinda exactly match the one on Pam’s face in that conference room. Crap, he _was_ the Pam, wasn’t he? 

That’s alright, he could handle being the Pam of the relationship. She was cute and she got the guy of her dreams. Sounded good enough for him. 

** 

Derek was pacing in his kitchen. 

What was he thinking?! Plan a date in less than a day? Plan the perfect first date for him and Stiles on a moment’s notice?! 

He was gripping at his hair with both hands, pulling outward, the pain doing nothing to help him think. He only had one chance at this and it _had_ to be perfect! 

“Dude, what’s your problem?” Isaac asked from the living room. 

Looking through the kitchen doorway, past the foyer, and into the living room, he could make out Isaac sprawled out on one of the couches, his laptop in his lap. 

“Mind your own business!” Derek growled, still pacing. 

“Geez. Sorry I asked,” Isaac replied. 

It had to be extraordinary, but not exuberant. It had to be romantic, but not cheesy. It had to let Stiles know that he was special but without making him uncomfortable. 

How much notice did hot balloon rental companies need to make an appointment? Did they take walk-ins? 

Okay, no. Too extravagant. Plus, werewolves belonged on the ground, feet held firmly to the earth beneath them. 

But another wrong idea didn’t get him any closer to finding the _right_ idea. 

_Shit!_

** 

His teeth were brushed. He had put on extra deodorant because God knew he’d be sweating anxiously every second from this point forth. His hair was freshly buzzed, his distinguishing crop of short brown hair just the way he liked it. He had finally decided on his white button-down shirt with blue stripes and one of his nicer pairs of jeans (no holes in the knees). It was a little inappropriate for summer attire but he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and plus, something about a t-shirt and shorts didn’t feel “first date appropriate.” 

The doorbell rang. 

Stiles almost collapsed over his two feet as he bounded down the stairs. Luckily, his dad was working the late shift tonight so there’d be no awkward conversations about why Derek Hale was showing up at their doorstep. He nervously unlocked the door and swung it open. 

And wow! He had never seen Derek like this before. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the guy was going to a prom right now. The maroon dress-shirt he was wearing shone brightly in the evening sun, almost reflectively. It was clearly made from some fabric fancier than the cotton-polyester blend that Stiles was sporting. And it didn’t hurt that the shirt seemed to grip each of Derek’s muscles perfectly, not straining as if the shirt was too tight but not loose enough to keep you from seeing the definition in each and every muscle. 

His dress pants told a similar story. The black fabric was clearly expensive and they hugged his waist perfectly. The shiny black belt and polished black shoes completed the man’s ensemble. It was perfect, disgustingly so. 

“Oh…” was all Stiles could mutter out of his gaping mouth. 

“I knew it!” Derek began, his voice frantic. “It’s all wrong! I should have worn a tie. No, a vest. Yes, a vest! I should have worn a vest. And I should have brought you something. Flowers! I should have brought you flowers! I’m sorry, the date’s ruined and it’s not even started.” 

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh. Derek was nervous. It was hilarious. Stiles should be the nervous one. He was the one going out on a date with Derek freaking Hale for crying out loud and yet Derek was the one freaking out. It was downright comical. He laughed harder. 

Derek looked even more distraught at Stiles’ laughter. His heartbeat was picking up and Stiles could smell the worry building up in his scent. 

“Derek, you don’t understand,” Stiles began, eyes still a little watery. “You look perfect.” 

“I do?” Derek asked, wide-eyed and hopeful. He gave “puppy-dog eyes” new meaning. 

“Too perfect!” Stiles said. “Look at you! You look like you’re about to perform on _Dancing With The Stars_ and I look like I’m about to go over to Grandma’s house for Easter brunch. I wish you would have told me you wanted us to dress up so fancy.” 

“I think you look nice,” Derek said calmly. Stiles couldn’t detect a tic in the man’s heartbeat although surely there must be one. The man couldn’t be telling the truth. 

“No, I’m changing,” Stiles answered, turning in the doorway. 

Derek stepped up a step and grabbed Stiles’ arm. 

“No, don’t,” he said. “You look perfect.” Again, there was no tic in the man’s heartbeat. Maybe Alphas could lie without even werewolf ears being able to pick up on it. 

He let Derek pull him out of the doorway, closing the door behind him as he went. They walked side by side down the porch and towards Derek’s shiny black Camaro in the driveway. As they approached, Stiles could see a slight quickening in Derek’s step and the twitch in the man’s arm as he prepared to reach for the passenger side door. Stiles beat him to the punch, darting forward and opening the door himself. 

“Look,” Stiles began. “Don’t get me wrong here. I’m happy we’re doing this but it’d be better for my ego if we didn’t resort to any stereotypical boy-girl roles in this relationship. I don’t want you to open the door for me. I definitely don’t want you to bring me flowers. I just want us to go out, and have fun, and get to know each other, and take this slow. Okay?” 

Derek looked a little taken aback. Maybe Stiles should have worded that more gently. But it needed to be said if there was any chance of this working out between them. And his wolf really wanted this to work out. It seriously would not stop tingling beneath his skin. 

“Okay,” Derek replied. “I’m so-…” 

Stiles held up his hand. 

“No need to be sorry,” he said as he flashed Derek one of his award-winning smiles. Well, maybe not award-winning but last time he checked, they didn’t hand out awards for smiles so… 

“So where are you taking me?” Stiles added as he slipped into the passenger seat. 

“You’ll see,” Derek replied as he turned on the car and adorned his Aviators. Stiles wanted to think the shades were obnoxious on the man’s face but dammit if they weren’t the sexiest thing ever. 

** 

“You should have let me change!” Stiles gasped as they pulled into the parking lot of _Café La Ritz_. It wasn’t the fanciest restaurant in town but it was certainly up there on the list and Stiles immediately felt underdressed. 

“You look great,” Derek said as he leaned over the console between the seats and planted a small kiss on Stiles’ cheek. And Stiles was sure his cheek was now turning eight different shades of red from blushing. Nothing about this seemed real. Derek hadn’t kissed him last night. Derek hadn’t shown up at his house today. He was not in Derek’s car. A tiny, lingering bit of saliva wasn’t clinging to Stiles’ cheek right now. Where was Ashton? Surely, he was being _Punk’d_. 

Stiles walked alongside Derek to the entrance of the restaurant. There was only one door and the handle _was_ closer to Derek so he didn’t complain when the man held the door open for him. But that didn’t stop the other man from smirking as Stiles walked by. 

Stiles had only been here a few times before, usually for holiday dinners or other special occasions. The familiar scene was sprawled before him. The dining room was large with dozens of circular tables throughout the restaurant, each topped with a white tablecloth and various glassware and silverware wrapped up in crimson cloth napkins. Large chandeliers hung overhead. Not crystal, of course. That would be way too fancy. Rather, large metal ones that looked ancient and had electric bulbs sitting in crevices that looked like they were originally meant for candles. An assortment of people filled many of the seats throughout the room, conversing with their friends and loved ones, most of them dressed more eloquently than Stiles. 

The sights, sounds, and smells were overwhelming to Stiles’ heightened senses, like tidal waves of information overloading his data banks. But a voice was speaking to his right so he focused on that. 

“Reservation under ‘Hale,’” Derek said to the man behind the host’s podium. The man eyed the two of them, looking from Derek to Stiles and back to Derek but refusing to comment. 

The man led them to a small table for two towards the back of the restaurant, just near a window adorned with flowing red curtains. Stiles took his seat, happy that Derek had not tried to pull it out for him. Derek sat across from him. A small candle flickered on the center of the table. They eyed each other for a moment. 

Stiles’ heartbeat was racing. He was sweating buckets into the white undershirt beneath his striped button-down. What were they going to talk about? Stiles’ only experience with dating had been when he went to homecoming with Lydia last year and that evening hadn’t exactly ended with a happily ever after. 

“So,” Stiles said, determined to diffuse any and all awkwardness and hide his underlying panic. He picked up his menu. “What’s good here?” 

“I don’t know. Never been here before,” Derek replied, picking up his own menu. 

“Then what made you pick it?” Stiles questioned while eyeing the pasta section. He had heard once that ordering pasta on a date was a mistake because you might accidentally get sauce on your clothes but the description of the veal ravioli just sounded too delicious. And it wasn’t like he was getting spaghetti. _That’d_ be a disaster. 

“Isaac suggested it,” Derek replied coolly, looking up at Stiles over the top of his menu. 

“You told Isaac about us?” Stiles asked, his voice just a little too squeaky. He tried not to sound anxious, tried not to freak out, but the air was getting trapped in his throat and his pulse was accelerating. He was happy about this date, he really and truly was, but he was in no way ready to out their five-minute-old relationship to the entire world. He shakily wiped his forehead with his napkin. 

“Of course not,” Derek replied, chuckling at Stiles’ mini freak out. “I just asked him what his favorite restaurant was. I think he thinks we’re planning him a birthday party.” 

“So, you want to keep us… a secret?” Stiles asked warily. 

“Only for as long as you do,” Derek replied coolly and damn, how did the guy keep so calm? Wasn’t this the same guy who was freaking out on Stiles’ doorstep like thirty seconds ago and now he was like a James Bond type of calm. And now Stiles was picturing Derek as James Bond and dammit if that wasn’t the sexiest thought he’d had all day. Oh, crap, what was Derek saying? 

“I’m not embarrassed,” Derek added. “But this is new territory for both of us and I figured that until we figure out what we mean to each other, it’s not anyone else’s business.” 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Stiles replied. He was glad they were on the same page here. It _was_ new territory, exciting territory, but new nonetheless. No use freaking out the pack until they knew exactly what was happening here. 

The waitress came to take their order. She ogled Derek with lust in her eyes as he ordered a New York strip and Stiles figured he should probably get used to that. There were always gonna be waitresses with obnoxiously tight shirts eyeing Derek the same way Yogi Bear gawks at a picnic basket. Stiles ordered his veal ravioli and handed her his menu. 

Stiles sipped his water anxiously as the waitress left the table. 

“What do you want to talk about?” Stiles asked. 

“Anything you want,” Derek replied, smiling. 

“Okay….” Stiles said, bending his elbow to anxiously scratch the back of his neck. “How long have you had a crush on me?” 

Derek seemed to tense at the question. It only made Stiles smile wider. At least he wasn’t the only nervous one now. 

“Well…” the man began. “I guess my _crush_ on you really began on our little road trip.” 

“Oh, that’s not very long at all, is it?” Stiles said, again sipping his water. It gave him something to do with his hands and he tended to get fidgety when he was nervous. 

“I sort of began having these _dreams_ …. about you,” Derek continued, his face almost embarrassed. 

“About me?” Stiles asked, now getting intrigued. “What was I doing in these dreams?” 

Derek’s eyes widened and he smiled. “Dirty things.” 

Stiles’ gulped. 

“And ever since you became a wolf,” Derek added. “I’ve kinda been going crazy every time you’re near me.” 

Stiles wiped his forehead again. 

“I’m glad I’m not the only one!” he exclaimed. 

He appreciated Derek’s honesty. Even more than that, he was ecstatic that he wasn’t the only one whose wolf was going crazy whenever the other person was around. Even now, his wolf was still scratching and racing and purring under his skin. It wanted to jump across the table and rip that maroon shirt off Derek and nip at the man’s chest and neck until he reached the man’s lips and… 

“What do you mean?” Derek asked, his question pulling Stiles from his train of thought. 

“Every time I’m near you and our eyes meet,” Stiles started. “My wolf like freaks out and I get this tingling feeling that shoots up and down my body. And my thoughts drift to, well you don’t want to know where my thoughts go.” 

Derek smiled as he raised his own glass of water to his lips. 

“I might have an idea,” he said, still smirking. 

“Okay, new topic!” Stiles exclaimed, his body temperature rising. “Erica and Boyd. What’s going on there?” 

** 

Only after much badgering did Stiles finally get Derek to admit that Erica and Boyd were indeed in a relationship but he made Stiles promise not to tell. And Stiles agreed. He knew exactly what it felt like to be at the cusp of a bold, new relationship and not want to reveal it to the world just yet. 

They talked about the most random things, about movies, and TV, and books. Stiles made sarcastic jokes and Derek laughed. Stiles told Derek about school and lacrosse. Derek told Stiles about New York and Melinda’s pack. Neither of them brought up the other one’s family, or rather lack thereof, knowing that it was a sore subject for each of them and would probably dampen the high-spirited nature of their conversation. 

Their food came and it was delicious. They both cleaned their plates. They talked long after they had finished eating, both of them truly enjoying the other’s company. When the waitress came back asking if they’d like dessert, Derek said no because they had other plans but he wouldn’t tell Stiles what they were, even when he whined. When the check came, Derek handed it to Stiles, jokingly saying he wouldn’t want to bruise Stiles’ ego by paying the whole check himself. Stiles got a stubborn look in his eyes and reached for the check but Derek pulled it out of his reach and insisted on paying the whole bill, tip included, even when Stiles got his wallet out and began counting bills. 

When the Camaro pulled up in front of the Hale house, the sun had just set over the horizon and the darkness of night was beginning to spread over the wooded countryside. Stiles got out of the car and looked up at the night sky, the stars just barely visible through the canopy of leaves and branches. 

“What are we doing here?” Stiles asked, looking towards the spooky, old house. He thought he should hear Isaac’s heartbeat from inside but heard none. He guessed the guy wasn’t home. 

“You’ll see,” Derek replied smiling. “Wait here a second.” 

Stiles could hear Derek rummaging through the car’s trunk. He could hear the unmistakable sounds of ruffling fabrics, and the clanking of an open belt buckle, and the noise of a zipper. A minute later, Derek reemerged in new clothes, his dress clothes replaced by jeans and sneakers and a t-shirt. He also had a small box in his hand, but he didn’t mention what was in it. 

“You might want to leave that here,” Derek said, motioning to Stiles’ dress shirt. “We’re going for a little hike.” Stiles obliged, leaving the garment on the car seat. 

Derek stepped towards Stiles and then took the boy’s hand in his own. 

“What’s in the box?” Stiles questioned. 

“You’ll see,” Derek teased. 

They began walking through the woods, at first towards the clearing where the pack held their training sessions, but then veering to the east. They walked through the pillars of silent trees, each man taking in the sounds and smells of the forest around them. 

Stiles didn’t talk as they walked, content to just follow Derek’s lead, letting the man’s hand be his guide. The sounds of the squeaking crickets and the flow of the evening breeze seemed to put Stiles at ease as they went. 

They reached a small creek that ran along the forest floor. A large, rotting tree trunk crossed the creek a little ways down. They walked toward it. Derek climbed up first and then extended a hand to pull Stiles up too. Stiles could have made it up perfectly fine on his own, he was a werewolf after all, but he conceded just this once to let Derek be the gentleman and reached up to take Derek’s hand. 

They crossed the old trunk and then continued to walk through the woods, still hand-in-hand. Finally, they found their way to another clearing in the woods, smaller than the one they used for training, and in the middle sat a large oak tree, the biggest Stiles had ever seen. It towered over the other trees nearby and extended thick, weaving branches in every direction. 

They approached the tree and Derek finally began to finagle with the small cardboard box in his hands. Stiles watched as the man undid the white ribbon that was tied around it, letting it fall to the ground. Upon opening the box, Stiles saw four large, chocolate-covered strawberries inside. Little strands of white chocolate had been drizzled over the dark chocolate, forming a design of little hearts. They looked juicy and delicious. 

“Too cheesy?” Derek asked. 

“Nope,” Stiles said smiling. He could hear the tic in his heartbeat as he lied. It was cheesy, it really was, but he was just glad that Derek wanted to be cheesy with him, wanted to be romantic with him. His wolf was going crazy at the cheesiness. 

Derek smiled and lifted one of the strawberries from the box and brought it to Stiles’ lips. He bit into it, the chocolate and strawberry flavors flooding his taste buds. He reached into the box and picked up another one of the strawberries and brought it to Derek’s lips. The man bit the berry, his glistening eyes locking with Stiles’ as he did so. 

Then, Derek picked up the third strawberry from the box. _God, this is so cheesy_ was all Stiles could think as the man brought the fruit to his lips. But he wasn’t complaining because cheesy or not, Derek had put in the effort and who was he to scoff at that. Derek brought the berry to Stiles’ mouth and just as the chocolate tip had hit Stiles’ tongue, Derek pressed roughly, forcing the whole fruit deep into Stiles’ mouth and causing Stiles to immediately gag the thing back out. He coughed forcefully and the berry fell out of his mouth and landed on the ground with a thud, then bouncing a foot away. He coughed again, choking on saliva as a long string of drool began to fall out of his gaping mouth. 

Derek started laughing uncontrollably. 

“Oops,” the man said, still chuckling. “My bad.” There was not a hint of a genuine apology to be found. “I can’t tell you why, but you had that coming, Stiles. Consider that payback,” Derek added. 

“Um… okay?” Stiles responded, looking confused. Payback for what? But Derek didn’t elaborate. 

“But look what you made me do!” Stiles whined as he motioned to the fallen fruit. 

Derek turned the box in his hands upside down so that the final strawberry fell to the ground too, also bouncing a few feet away. 

“There. Now we’re even,” Derek said, his laughing finally receding. 

“Well, whatever. You ruined the moment so…” Stiles huffed stubbornly. 

“Oh, really,” Derek countered, bringing his fingers to Stiles’ chin, gently turning it so that their eyes were even, locked in place, staring into each other. They held silent for a few moments, Derek’s wide peridot spheres locked with Stiles’ own copper ones. And apparently that’s all it took for Stiles to be right back in the moment, right back at the mercy of Derek and his cheesy romanticism. 

And then Derek leaned in and brought his lips against Stiles’, kissing him softly. Their lips pressed against each other, turned over one other, soft and wet. And Derek pulled away just as surprisingly as he’d come in, smiling warmly. 

“You were saying something about a ruined moment,” Derek teased, his grin widening. 

“Smug bastard,” Stiles retorted, his head still spinning from the kiss. 

“C’mon,” Derek said, reaching upwards to the nearest branch of the large oak tree and pulling himself up onto it. 

“C’mon, where?” Stiles asked. 

“Up,” Derek teased as he climbed up onto another branch. 

Stiles reluctantly reached up and pulled himself onto the first large tree branch. Then, he pulled himself up onto another. Then another, all the while following Derek up into the canopy of the tree. 

Finally, the two of them had reached the highest branch in the tree that was thick enough to support the weight of two people. It was about three-quarters of the way up, but still high enough that they were a good 50 feet or so up off the ground. 

Stiles sat on the branch next to Derek, their thighs touching. Derek reached for Stiles’ hand, their fingers intertwining. A simple gesture, but it felt nice nonetheless. 

“Laura and I used to come here when we were kids,” Derek began, the tone in his voice more somber than before. Derek’s hand tensed against his own. Stiles kept quiet. The guy was opening up here. This could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He never talked about Laura. 

“You can see here where we carved our initials into the tree trunk,” Derek continued, pointing to his right where the faded scratches of two young werewolves were indented into the tree bark. Stiles focused where the other man pointed, his eyes discerning the faint _L.H._ and _D.H._

“I used to come here a lot after she died. I’d just sit up here for hours, thinking about her, missing her. I would bring a little notebook with me too. I would write down every conversation I could remember us having, every word she had ever said, however insignificant. I would go over our talks constantly in my mind. I’d replay her words so often in my head that I swore I could hear her voice again. And it was like she was still here, still with me.” 

Derek paused, his throat clenching. Stiles squeezed the man’s hand reassuringly. He knew Derek was sharing a part of himself that he hadn’t shared with anyone else. Stiles almost felt lucky to hear it at all. 

“That’s not all,” Derek resumed. He turned to look at Stiles as he spoke, his eyes wide and wet, the tears on the verge of spilling over. “I would think of everything I should have done differently. Every way I could have saved her and every way I failed her.” 

A few moments of silence passed. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles finally muttered, looking deep into Derek’s eyes. 

“I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel sorry, Stiles,” Derek said. “Look, I spent a lot of time hating myself and blaming myself for things that happened in the past, things I couldn’t change, as much as I wanted to.” 

Stiles nodded. 

“Stiles, what happened in the cabin with the hunters, it wasn’t your fault,” Derek continued. 

“Ahh… the point emerges,” Stiles said softly. 

“They played their hand and we played ours. You couldn’t have done anything differently. And even if you could have, I think even you must know that the result would have been the same. Those men were marked for death. Don’t blame yourself Stiles, and don’t hate yourself. Not for this, not for anything.” 

Derek paused for a moment. Stiles held his gaze, wanting to let the emotions go, all the guilt, all the torment, all the self-hatred. But he was unsure if he ever fully could. Guilt like that didn’t just dissipate, couldn’t be abandoned so easily. 

But he could try. He could try for Derek. 

“Not to mention you saved my life. Again. All you do is save me, Stiles. The pool, the farm, the cabin. Whenever I’m in trouble, Stiles comes rushing to save the day. My own little super hero…” 

“Hey, who you calling little?” Stiles chuckled playfully. 

“Sorry, my great big _wolfy_ super hero…” Derek teased as he leaned in for another kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it?! 
> 
> I really hope you did! I've been building up the Sterek in this story so much that I knew once the door was open, finding the perfect way to deal with it was going to be super challenging. But I like what I've come up with here and I hope you did too! 
> 
> How about the first date? It literally could have been anything I wanted but I think the restaurant and evening hike kind of was the perfect balance of romantic and fun, light-hearted but also serious. 
> 
> And did you get the "payback" part?! 
> 
> Remember when Derek had his dream about being in the kitchen while he was decorating that cake and Stiles messed up one of the swirls?? Well, Derek promised Stiles would pay for that so here was the payback! Sorry if you think that's lame but I kinda love the idea of Stiles paying for a crime now that he hasn't even committed yet/ doesn't even know happened!
> 
> And if you're not a fan of The Office, then sorry if that scene confused you. (PS, if you aren't a fan of The Office, you prolly should be. At least the first 7 seasons anyway.) 
> 
> More Sterek to come so stay tuned! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!! Comment below!!


	13. Seconds

“Stiles! What is it!? What’s going-…?!”

Derek’s breathing was labored and his scent was filled with worry. 

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Stiles interrupted, hushing loudly at the older wolf who had just leapt through his bedroom window. The early afternoon sunlight poured in behind him. “My dad’s still sleeping,” he added, his voice whispering. 

“Stiles!” Derek hissed, his voice lowering to match Stiles’ decibel. “Your text said ‘come quick, it’s urgent!’” 

“I know,” Stiles answered. “It is. I still can’t believe you have never in your life played a single video game. Now, come over here and take a look. I’ve laid out a few that I think will be good starter games before we get into the more complicated stuff.” 

Stiles motioned Derek over with his waving arm and pointed to the sprawl of video game cases laid out on the floor in front of the small TV in the corner of Stiles’ room. 

“That isn’t an emergency!” Derek hissed again. His expression was pure irritation. “I ran all the way here!” 

“I didn’t say it was _emergent_ ,” Stiles stressed, smiling naughtily. “I just said _urgent_ as in _requiring our attention_. It’s not my fault you read too far into it. Now, stop being a grumpy wolf and come here.” 

Stiles’ smile widened as the older wolf slumped towards him. Okay, he knew exactly what he was doing when he sent the text but he really wanted to see Derek and it seemed like the simplest way to do it. His date last night had been perfect and after waking up to an empty room, it was clear the only thing missing was Derek. So he sent a small misleading text message, problem solved. 

“You’re lucky you’re so damn cute,” Derek teased as he approached. He wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist and pulled him forward so he could peck a small kiss bluntly into Stiles’ lips. 

“You think I’m cute?” Stiles questioned. Despite everything that had transpired between him and Derek in the past day and a half, his brain was still having trouble computing that Derek actually liked him, actually wanted to be with him, actually thought that he, Stiles, was an attractive human being. It was just a little too surreal to be true, and yet somehow it was. 

“It’s the only thing keeping me from breaking your elbows,” Derek teased again as he leaned in and planted another small kiss into Stiles’ lips. Stiles’ wolf burst to life as their lips touched, sending shivers up and down his body. 

“Oooh, baby, why youz gotta be so cranky in da morning?” Stiles mocked. 

Derek growled playfully, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Stiles’ neck and sucking on the sensitive skin before finally letting him go. 

“Shh,” Stiles hushed again. “My dad may be incapacitated two floors below us but he isn’t deaf.” Whenever his dad had a multi-day stent of night shifts, like he did now, he usually crashed on the futon in the basement where it was dark enough for him to get a good night’s (well, a good day’s) rest. 

“Okay,” Stiles continued, turning again towards the pile of video games. “So first we have to decide what kind of game you want to play. There are racing games; those are pretty straight forward. Then there’s fighting games; we’ve got some that are third-person combat and some that are first-person shooters. Or there’s always RPGs, I’ve got a lot of those, but they’re only one-player games which I guess is okay, I don’t mind watching and helping you out. So, what do you think? What do you want to play?” 

Derek looked puzzled. 

“Wait, you were serious about that?” he asked. 

“Dead serious,” Stiles said sternly. “I can’t sit idly by and watch as you miss out on one of the fundamental experiences of being alive.” 

“Fundamental experience of being alive?” Derek scoffed. 

“Shut up and pick your game.” 

** 

“Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!” Derek huffed as he frantically slammed the A-button repeatedly. 

“Pew! Pew! Pew!” Stiles said, making little gun sounds as Kirby fired shot after shot at Link. 

“Swing your sword! Swing your sword! Jump, jump, jump!” 

“Bye, bye,” Stiles teased as Link fell off the screen into oblivion. 

“GAME!” the television sounded as Link’s final life disappeared. 

“Rematch!” Derek exclaimed. “And you got any snacks around here? I’m starving.” 

“Welcome to the Dark Side,” Stiles chuckled as he stood to get some food from the kitchen. 

** 

The back of Stiles’ head smacked roughly against the hard earth. Strong hands gripped his wrists and held them to the ground above his head. A firm torso laid atop his own, hot and heavy, pinning him to the dirt. 

“Are you even trying?” 

The words were forced out of a snarled mouth, the wolf’s sharp teeth and gleaming eyes inches from his own. Stiles growled, wrestling his arms and body beneath the other wolf but failing to free himself. He snapped his teeth upwards but his opponent reacted instinctively, arching his face away before Stiles could clamp down. 

“Better luck next time, Stilinski,” Jackson said as he lifted himself off of Stiles. Stiles begrudgingly took the hand that reached down and pulled himself up from the ground. He brushed the clumps of grass and dirt that were clinging to his shirt and furry forearms. 

That had been pretty much par for the course this evening. He hadn’t been able to pin one other Beta all night and although Stiles never really was much of a fighter, his record tonight was just embarrassing. 

The problem wasn’t lack of trying. Sure, his enthusiasm for letting his wolf loose and practicing fighting techniques had been severely diminished after the night he had slaughtered the hunters in the cabin. But he was trying to let that go, little by little. He had made a promise to himself to try and put that behind him. 

No, the problem was that he was distracted. 

He and Derek had agreed it was still too soon to tell the pack about their relationship. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t find out on their own. It _was_ a pack of emotion-sniffing, hypersensitive werewolves and Stiles was beyond worried that he was going to give himself away. He wished he’d had interrogated Derek on how the Alpha so easily kept an emotional forcefield up around other wolves. It’d certainly come in handy right now. 

Although Derek was sporting one of his signature grey wifebeaters, leaving little to the imagination in the musculature department, it wasn’t Derek’s physical presence that was keeping Stiles distracted from his sparring matches. Not that it was helping either. The Alpha was seriously too sexy for Stiles’ own good. 

But what was really keeping Stiles distracted tonight was the conversation he had had with Derek just before they came to the Hale property for werewolf boot camp. Stiles had made the incredibly stupid decision to offer and plan their next date. And by “offer,” he meant “demanded.” He had demanded to plan the next date, refusing to accept Derek’s suggestions that their afternoon of video games kinda counted as a date. 

No, video games and pizza rolls were fun (plus, the kissing, don’t forget the kissing) but it wasn’t a date, not really. So he was gonna plan a real one, even though he had absolutely no ideas in mind. 

As a result, he was not interested in pinning anyone to the ground on this particular evening, well except for maybe Derek and that was for completely different reasons and _No, do not go down that path, other werewolves around!_

There was just no way to focus his mind on fighting right now. It just wasn’t going to happen. Especially when images of quiet walks on the beach and picnics in the woods and sunset rowboat rides while a talking crab and a bunch of frogs sung love songs raced through his mind. 

He looked around the clearing. Erica and Isaac were sparring a little ways from him and Jackson. Erica seemed to be baiting Isaac, playing with him really. Despite being the only female wolf, she could be extremely cunning in battle and Stiles had yet to pin her whenever they’d been paired up. 

Scott and Boyd were a little ways beyond; their battle was more ferocious. The two wolves slashed violently and were growling more than anyone. Besides maybe Peter, they were clearly the two best fighters among the Betas and definitely the strongest. The two squared off often, both wanting to claim dominance over the other. Stiles didn’t really get it but he knew that werewolves were all about order and ranks and position within the pack so he let them go at it. If they wanted to tear each other to pieces in their attempts to seek approval from their Alpha, let em. It was no skin off Stiles’ nose. 

Derek was patrolling the perimeter, as he usually did during these sessions. He didn’t let himself practice with the Betas, not since Stiles’ attack on Peter at their first session, but he would interrupt here and there, offering suggestions and complimenting any exceptional technique. 

Jackson growled to Stiles’ left, pulling back Stiles’ concentration. 

Time for Round 2. 

** 

Derek leered as Jackson again pinned Stiles to the earth. He had to struggle to keep his wolf under control. He knew it was just practice but seeing Stiles, _his_ Stiles, being attacked in any way was enough to set his wolf on edge. 

Stiles had never been the best fighter among his Betas, not by a long shot, but he was seriously underperforming tonight. Not that he blamed the boy. He knew it must be a struggle to fight and to unleash his wolf so soon after the night with the hunters. But at least Stiles was here, and Stiles was trying, and Derek was so proud of him just for that. 

If he wasn’t in love with Stiles before, he definitely was now. He knew that was crazy, they had been “together” for only two days, but that didn’t make it less true. Every moment with Stiles was perfect. It didn’t matter if they were sitting together in a romantic restaurant, or walking together through the moonlit woods, or just sitting on the floor eating pizza rolls whilst Stiles destroyed him at video games. All that mattered was that they were together. And he was happy. 

He took a moment to eye the other matches going on in the clearing. Erica had already ended the scuffle by pinning Isaac to the ground, no surprise there, and was now playfully licking the other Beta behind one of his ears. Apparently the boy was ticklish there because he was half-laughing, half-howling uncontrollably beneath the girl’s grip, desperately wrestling to try and free himself from her slobbery assault. 

Boyd seemed distracted now. Even though Erica’s actions were harmless, he now seemed equally interested in watching them as he did the opponent before him. Scott leapt and swiped at one of Boyd’s legs, causing him to fall to the ground. The two rolled around the earth, all teeth and claws, and now were lost in a sort of wrestling match in an attempt to pin each other. 

Derek sighed as he continued to patrol the clearing. 

** 

“Okay, so let me start off by saying that…” Stiles began but was quickly interrupted by Derek pulling Stiles’ body into his own and bringing their lips together. The older wolf inhaled deeply as he pressed his lips into Stiles’ and held their bodies tightly close, like he needed this, like he was starving for it. 

As their lips separated, Stiles’ mind was suddenly blank. Stiles was quickly realizing that whenever he and Derek kissed, there was something about the feel of it, the taste of it, and the smell of it that would overwhelm all of his sensory inputs at once. It usually took his brain a moment to catch up to reality afterwards. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it, not that he wanted to. It was bliss. 

As his mind finally caught up, he remembered why he was here. Date. Date with Derek. 

“Where’s Isaac?” Stiles asked as he and Derek stepped down the steps of the porch away from the Hale house. 

“Scott’s,” Derek responded. 

He was a little surprised at first but it quickly subsided. He knew that Scott and Isaac had begun to form a sort of friendship recently. Under different circumstances, he’d probably be bothered by it but he was spending all his time with Derek these days so why shouldn’t Scott be spending time with someone else too. He’d have to make time to hang out with Scott again soon, though, even if he’d rather be with Derek. He couldn’t let his new relationship monopolize his life. He remembered how it’d been when Scott had first started dating Allison and Stiles barely saw the guy outside of school. He wouldn’t do the same to his friend. 

“Uh, you were saying something before,” Derek said as they reached Stiles’ blue jeep, which they’d be taking on the date. His date, his car. Derek glanced at his Camaro longingly as they both entered the jeep. 

_Too bad, so sad. Deal with it._ Stiles thought. 

“Yea,” Stiles answered. “I was going to tell you in advance that I know what I have planned isn’t your typical date-type event but it’s something I’ve always wanted to do so you have to promise to just do it anyway and have fun while doing it. Kapeesh?” 

“Stiles, I’m sure whatever you’ve got in mind is going to be just…” 

“Shake on it,” Stiles interrupted, extending his hand. 

Derek looked at the hand curiously. 

“Seriously?” 

“Yes,” Stiles urged. 

Derek caved and shook Stiles’ hand. 

“Good. Here we go,” Stiles said. 

** 

The car ride was longer than expected but Derek didn’t mind. Stiles wouldn’t tell Derek where they were going but Derek was actually expecting that. They had talked for a while at first but the conversation had lulled as they drove on, mostly because Stiles was becoming increasingly more focused on the road ahead than on Derek. And the boy was getting nervous for some reason. 

As the “Leaving Beacon Hills” sign whizzed past, Stiles began tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, and not to the tune of the soft music coming from the radio but rather in a nervous way that Derek recognized as anxiety. 

“Stiles, are you okay?” Derek asked, his voice concerned. He brought his hand to Stiles’ shoulder and rubbed it tenderly. He was still getting used to this whole being reassuring thing but he thought maybe he was getting better at it. 

“Yea, great!” Stiles said smiling, but it looked forced. Even so, Derek didn’t detect any tic in the boy’s heartbeat so he figured Stiles must be telling the truth. “We’re almost there.” 

They weren’t that far away from Beacon Hills, really, only one town over. They pulled into the parking lot of some ancient-looking, mom and pop restaurant called _Penny’s_. Derek looked at the flaking siding of the small restaurant warily. He didn’t understand why Stiles would bring him here of all places but the car was in “park” and Stiles was taking off his seatbelt so clearly no mistake had been made. 

Derek walked with Stiles up to the glass doors and held the door open for him. He expected some sort of reaction from the boy, maybe an annoyed smile or perhaps Stiles defiantly opening the other door for himself and refusing Derek’s gesture. But Stiles just walked through the open door, fidgeting with his hands, his scent still pungent with anxiety. Derek was thoroughly confused. 

They approached the hostess station and waited a few minutes before a kindly, old woman came over. 

“Two?” she asked, smiling. 

“Yes,” Stiles answered. “And we’re gonna be doing the challenge.” 

“The challenge?” the woman questioned, her eyes lighting up. “Goodie! No one’s attempted it in so long! Come with me, come with me!” 

The two boys followed as the old woman scurried between tables, most of them empty but a few filled with dining guests. She led them to one table separated from the others against the back wall. A large, colored bulletin board covered the wall behind the table and stapled to the board were forty or fifty polaroid photos. The title of the board read in large, yellow letters: “Survivors of Penny’s Pancake Challenge!” 

Derek suddenly had an idea of where this date was going. 

“Be right back,” the woman said. “Just gotta inform the kitchen. Please, take a seat.” 

Derek took his seat across from Stiles, who was still fidgeting nervously. 

“Ok, here’s the deal,” Stiles began. “You shared a little of your past with me, so now it’s my turn to reciprocate.” 

“Stiles, you don’t have to…” Derek began. 

“I want to,” Stiles interrupted. “You see, this place here has this thing called ‘Penny’s Pancake Challenge.’ It’s an eating challenge. You have to eat four 1-lb. pancakes in forty minutes. It’s brutal.” 

“Okay,” Derek nodded. He had a feeling a large amount of pancake eating was in his immediate future, a thought that sent tiny shivers up his spine, but he kept listening to Stiles. 

“When I was little, like six or seven, my dad completed the challenge. I seriously have no idea how he did it. It’s more food than anyone should eat in one week, let alone one sitting. Anyway, he did it and they put his picture up on the wall. Look, third row.” 

Derek looked to his right at the multi-colored bulletin board. He scanned the photos with his eyes, darting to the third row. He followed the faces, some smiling and some looking very, very sick, until his eyes rested on the polaroid of a young man, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, sitting in the same seat that Derek was now, and with a large, empty plate in front of him. The young sheriff, although probably not a sheriff at that time, smiled widely, his face still shiny with syrup. 

A small boy sat on the sheriff’s lap, couldn’t be older than seven, and tugged at his father’s shirt as he too smiled dopily at the camera. The boy’s hair was longer then than it was now, fashioned into a “bowl-cut,” a style that thankfully was no longer popular. His eyes, though, were the exact same, a rich butterscotch, wide and joyful. 

The third person in the photo was a beautiful young woman with flowing chocolate-brown hair that matched her son’s. She crouched behind the sheriff, smiling warmly, with her hand resting on the man’s shoulder. Stiles’ mother was a lovely woman and Derek guessed that she was probably similar to his own mother, fiercely protective of her family but also filled with so much love that it couldn’t be contained. He wondered if she was overbearing or maybe embarrassing or possibly just plain goofy like her son. 

He looked back to Stiles. He understood the boy’s nervousness now. It must be hard to come back here now, to re-open a chapter of his life that had been closed for so long and not only that, but to share that chapter with someone else. It felt like Stiles was giving him a gift, the gift of himself. 

“So, like I said, he completed the challenge. The prize for doing it is you get free pancakes for life. So after that, me and my mom and my dad would come here every Sunday for brunch and my dad would get his free pancakes. It was tradition for like, years and years. But after my mom, well you know, my dad didn’t want to come back anymore. I haven’t been here in a long time.” 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. 

“I didn’t tell you it so you’d be sorry,” Stiles said sternly, before his face changed and he grinned widely. Derek couldn’t help but smile too as they both began to laugh. Stiles _would_ be the type to use his own words against him. 

“So, anyway, I don’t think I could have ever done the challenge myself before but now that I have some new _talents_ …” Stiles emphasized, winking. “…I think I’m gonna do it. And you’re gonna do it too. And we’re gonna get our pictures up on that wall.” 

Derek liked pancakes as much as the next guy and it was true that werewolves could eat a fair amount more than the average human but four pounds of pancakes was an excess by anyone’s standards and the thought of piling that much garbage into his gut made him sweat nervously. 

Stiles smiled at him evilly from across the table. _His_ nervousness, at least, was apparently gone. 

“Okay, whatever you say,” Derek said, returning the smile. He wasn’t the type to back down from a challenge, even one as ridiculous as a pancake-eating challenge. And he had made a deal after all, to do whatever Stiles had planned and to have fun while doing it. 

A deal’s a deal. 

** 

Stiles was full, like beyond full. Stiles was about to burst. His insides were going to rupture and he’d die in a bloody, syrupy mess. 

No, seriously. 

He looked down at the large plate before him. There was still just over one pancake left. Well, that was an approximation. He wasn’t eating them one by one but rather progressing from the layers closest to him to the layers farthest away. The last remains of pancake taunted him as he reached his fingers to tear off another bite. He had given up on the fork and knife awhile ago. 

The pancakes were fluffy and delicious; one plain, one chocolate chip, one blueberry, and one pecan. Not to mention they were drowning in sticky maple syrup and topped with sweet whipped cream, but that didn’t make the task any easier. It was a lot of carbs and they clumped heavily in his gut like a stone. The pecans were the worst. While everything else could be mashed and quickly swallowed, nuts actually had to be chewed. His jaws were killing him. 

He looked to Derek, who had also slowed down his eating pace and was looking like he wanted to die. His cheeks were filled with pancake and bulged like a chipmunk. 

Derek looked up at him, still slowly chewing and not even attempting to wipe the trail of syrupy drool falling from his gaping mouth. He looked miserable. His eyelids sagged and both his cheeks were flushed from exhaustively chewing. 

“I hate you,” the man said through chunks of half-chewed pancake. 

“You love me,” Stiles countered as small crumbs of pancake fired out of his chomping mouth with each word. He smiled wide. 

“Fifteen minutes left,” said the old woman with the stopwatch watching them eat. 

Stiles crammed another bite into his mouth. 

** 

“WE DID IT!” Stiles yelped as Derek swallowed his last bite of pancake. 

Derek had been ahead of him for most of the challenge but had slowed his eating pace, Stiles figured probably intentionally, towards the end so that Stiles finished first. But Stiles didn’t care. They both had finished and that’s all that mattered. 

“Great job, boys!” the old woman exclaimed, as she clapped her hands excitedly. “I haven’t seen eating like that in a long time! Let me get the camera!” 

A family not far away had been watching as Stiles and Derek finished the challenge. They all clapped in celebration and Stiles couldn’t help but smile and wave. Despite how unhappy his stomach was right now, the rest of him was overjoyed. 

The woman returned a minute later with an old polaroid camera in her hands. Stiles was wiping his hands and face with his fourth wet wipe. He still felt sticky. 

“Do you want separate pictures or one together?” the woman asked. 

“Together,” Stiles answered. He probably wouldn’t have had the courage to come here if Derek wasn’t here with him. And he definitely wouldn’t have found the motivation to finish that last pancake if Derek wasn’t just across the table, going through the challenge too. They conquered this challenge together, and that warranted a shared photograph. 

He scooted his chair around the table until he was next to Derek. Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, pulling him close with his sticky hand. Stiles smiled widely when the woman said “Say cheese!” and the camera flashed. 

The woman shook the photo after it emerged from the camera and then stapled it to the wall. Stiles gaped at it and couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. He had done it, he had really done it! 

She handed each of them a small plastic card about the size of a credit card. It said “Penny’s Pancake Survivor” in black letters. 

“Okay boys, you know the deal. Free pancakes for life. Come back anytime and just present that card. Way to go!” The old woman said before turning and walking away. 

As they stood to leave, Derek gave his hands a final wash with a wet wipe and dropped it on the table. Stiles stepped towards him and leaned forward to plant a kiss on Derek’s cheek. The man’s mouth still reeked of maple syrup and his cheek tasted like a combination of syrup and cleanser. 

Derek smiled. “What was that for?” 

“You still had some syrup there,” Stiles replied, smiling. It wasn’t a lie so his heart didn’t jump but that wasn’t really why he kissed him. 

It was a thank you. A thank you for not only coming here and giving Stiles the strength to complete the challenge but also a thank you for making Stiles realize that it’s okay to remember the ones you’ve lost. 

Derek didn’t know how difficult it usually was for Stiles to think about his mom. Though it had been five years since her passing, the memories still cut like knives, reopening old emotional wounds. He had conquered most of his emotional triggers in that time and the places that used to make him break down in a heap of panicked sobbing (i.e. the hospital, the ice cream shop she’d always taken him to as a kid, the frozen food aisle of the supermarket where she’d collapsed for the first time) no longer brought back rushing memories and waves of panic. 

Coming here after all this time, though, and seeing her picture, and eating her pancakes (she always ordered blueberry), should have been enough to bring all the memories of her back and send Stiles into a spiral of deep sadness that he always found himself in when he let himself really think about his mother. But it didn’t happen this time. Stiles did think of his mother today, he really did. He remembered her face and her laugh and all that he missed about her. But he didn’t feel like breaking down. 

He felt like remembering her more, and sharing her with Derek, and using the new happy memories made here with Derek today to reinforce the happy memories he’d made with her and his father when they’d eaten here so long ago. For the first time in a long time, he was remembering his mother without getting depressed. And that was huge. 

And it was because of Derek. 

Because somehow being with Derek made the sadness go away. 

That’s not to say that there wasn’t still some hurt there. There’d probably always be some hurt when he thought of his mother. But the happiness was just so much more. He knew now that it was okay to remember the ones we’ve lost, to share their memory with others, even if it makes you sad, even if it hurts. 

And he wanted to share it all with Derek. 

They left the restaurant hand-in-hand. 

And the date wasn’t even over yet. 

** 

Stiles once again put the jeep in park. The afternoon sun was just reaching the western horizon. 

Derek looked at their surroundings and then back to Stiles. His mouth opened to speak but Stiles beat him to it. There was no going back now. 

“Derek,” Stiles began. “Today never would have happened if it weren’t for you.” 

The words swelled in Stiles’ throat after that. It was a last-ditch effort of some part of his brain to keep them inside, to stop Stiles from sharing them. But Stiles knew what he had to do and what he had to say. His wolf already trusted Derek implicitly. It was time for his human side to be just as trusting. 

“For the past five years, I’ve pretty much only thought about my mother once a year, on the anniversary of her death. My dad and I put flowers on her grave, eat dinner at her favorite restaurant, tell the same stories about her we’ve always told, first the happy ones and then the sad ones, then my dad gets drunk and I get depressed and when I wake up the next day, it’s like nothing happened. It all goes back into the box in my mind and I don’t open it again for another year.” 

Derek reached across the space between them and gripped Stiles hand in his own, squeezing it softly. There was water in Stiles’ eyes, he knew there would be, but he fought it with all his might. He wouldn’t let them overflow. Today had been too happy, too perfect, to cry now. 

“But listening to you talk about Laura the other night,” Stiles continued. “made me realize that I’ve been doing this all wrong. I’ve been letting her slip away and little by little, I’m forgetting her. That’s what today was about. Today, I was able to go back to a place I thought I’d never go again. I thought about my mom and I looked at her picture and… and… and it didn’t make me sad. And I never could have done that if you weren’t there with me.” 

Derek smiled at his words and that made Stiles smile too. 

“And it’s not gonna stop there. I need to make some changes, Derek. I’m gonna take my dad back to that restaurant and we’re gonna eat free pancakes again… and we’re gonna think about Mom without being sad… and we’re gonna tell stories about her again and put her painting back up in the living room and… and… and not lock her away like Christmas decorations, only opening the box once a year. I’m not gonna let myself forget her.” 

There was a pause as Stiles huffed to catch his breath. 

“Stiles, I….” Derek started. “I wish I could have known her. I wish I could remember her with you.” 

“C’mon,” Stiles said, pulling his hand free from Derek’s grip. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” 

They hopped out of the jeep and as they approached the black iron gateway, Derek again took Stiles’ hand in his own. Stiles’ hand felt so comfortable wrapped up in Derek’s, like it belonged there, like it had always belonged there. 

Stiles took in a deep breath and exhaled. Then, he stepped forward and began walking along the concrete path through the rows and rows of headstones. Derek followed Stiles’ lead, letting the boy’s hand be his guide as they walked deeper into the cemetery past the countless souls of generations past. 

Finally, Stiles reached the all-too-familiar row, the one whose end headstone was in the shape of a cross and had two engraved angels in the marble with their trumpets pointed towards the heavens. Stiles led Derek down the row, exactly eight headstones down; he had memorized that number years ago. 

Then, they were before his mother’s grave. The headstone was rectangular in shape and stood maybe two feet high. It was made of polished pink marble and had flowers engraved all along its border. It had his mom’s name, and the dates of her birth and death, and finally “beloved wife and mother.” It was simple but beautiful. 

There was a small metal holder dug into the ground next to the grave. It’s where he and his father put flowers every year on the anniversary of her death. They were always white lilies, her favorite. Stiles was surprised to see the holder was filled now, with white lilies of course. They looked fresh and smelled delightful. But they shouldn’t be there. Stiles didn’t put them there. It was nowhere near the anniversary of her death. Did his father put them there? He must have. How often did his dad come out here without him? 

He put his shock aside. There was a task before him. 

Stiles gripped Derek’s hand tightly. He took another deep breath and then spoke. 

“…Mom…” 

“…this is Derek…” 

“…my boyfriend…” 

Stiles turned his head and looked into Derek’s eyes, peridot spheres as striking as ever. The water was welling in the corners of Stiles’ eyes, the tears so close to overflowing. He dared not blink for fear of them rushing down his face. 

Derek leaned in and brought their lips together. His lips were so soft, so tender, and ground so slowly against Stiles’. It was so sensual and so much different than every other kiss they’d shared up to this point. It wasn’t one of the hot, writhing, passionate kisses like when they were aroused or one of the quick, simple pecks on the lips or cheek when they wanted to show affection. It was a different beast altogether. Probably because it was more than a kiss, it was a connection. It was Stiles opening up to Derek in a way that he could with no one else, not Scott, not his father, not anyone. 

He couldn’t help but close his eyes. Tears overflowed down his cheeks as he did but it wasn’t about that anymore. It was about him and Derek. It was about Stiles realizing that he wasn’t just attracted to Derek and Derek wasn’t just his boyfriend. It was something so much more. _They_ were so much more. They shared a connection unlike any he’d ever heard of, one he couldn’t even fully describe, and one he didn’t even know could exist. And it seemed like everything that had happened since he had been bitten was leading up to now. 

Their lips separated but it was okay. Derek was still there when he opened his eyes. Derek was still _his_. 

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Stilinski,” Derek muttered in the direction of the grave. Then he turned back towards Stiles and smiled warmly. Stiles smiled too, wiping the tears from his face. 

They began to walk back down the row until they reached the concrete path. Stiles went to turn left towards the direction of the jeep but felt a tugging on his hand. 

“This way,” Derek said softly. 

This time, Stiles followed Derek’s lead as they walked deeper into the cemetery until they had nearly reached its end. There was a large area enclosed away from the rest of the tombstones, surrounded by neatly trimmed hedges and bushes filled with flowers. 

They passed under a wooden gateway into the enclosed area. There were still rows of headstones but now most of them shared a common last name: “Hale.” 

They walked past a decent-sized mausoleum that also had the name “Hale” engraved in large letters above the doorway. At the point where the two slabs of roof met in a peak, a large stone wolf’s head jutted forward, its eyes fierce and its teeth bared. 

“Subtle…” Stiles mumbled under his breath. 

Derek chuckled. 

A few more rows and Derek had led Stiles off the path to a large, black marble headstone. It was ornately engraved with flowers and vines and a large wolf’s head in the center. Below were the names of both of Derek’s parents and their dates of birth and death. Beneath the name of Derek’s father was a small engraving. Stiles thought it looked like the Greek letter alpha. Beneath the name of Derek’s mother was another symbol, though Stiles didn’t recognize that one. The quote at the bottom of the headstone read “Through our children, we live on.” 

They stood for a moment in front of the grave silently and this time Derek took a deep breath. 

“…Mom, Dad…” 

“…this is Stiles…” 

“…my mate…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you liked this chapter! Sterek feels, anyone?
> 
> As always, please comment below!!!


	14. The Secrets We Keep

“I did it! I did it!” the man shouted. He jumped up from his chair, leaping for joy. He sat back down again and brought his eyes back to the microscope on the small table before him, double-checking that he hadn’t been hallucinating.

Then, he put a rubber stopper in the Erlenmeyer flask filled with the cloudy white liquid. He lifted the flask up in the lamplight as if raising it to the gods, praising them for the gift of his discovery. He brought it back down to lips and kissed it. He was so happy. 

“I can’t believe it. They doubted me, they all doubted me. But now they’ll see. I’ve done it!” 

The man didn’t even hear the gentle creak in the door as it opened behind him. He didn’t see the figure emerge from the shadows as it snuck up, inches from his back. He didn’t utter a sound as the tiny daggers swept across his throat. 

When the pain hit him, the man’s smile vanished. But it was too late. He dropped the flask in his hand but it didn’t reach the floor. Its momentum was stopped by the swift movement of a clawed hand whooshing through the air to catch it. 

The man’s head crashed forward into the microscope and then fell against the table. Blood pooled out of his neck and swelled across the grains in the wood until it reached the edge and began to dribble down onto the floor. 

His eyes went blank as the figure silently exited the room. 

** 

Derek arrived back at the Hale house still on cloud nine. 

He climbed the steps and entered the front door, his face beaming. He heard a heartbeat nearby, coming from the kitchen. A quick sniff at the air let him know the source: Isaac, of course. 

He fixed his face, returning it to his customary scowl, before entering the room. The boy was sitting at the old table, head down as he ate some pizza rolls. Derek couldn’t help but buy them. Stiles had gotten him hooked. 

Isaac looked up, giving Derek a small smile before returning to his plate of food. Derek gave a nod before walking past the boy on his way to the fridge. 

“You seem happier than usual,” Isaac remarked as he passed. 

Was he that obvious? He had always been a pro at hiding his emotions, especially from his Betas. It kept his authority in place. But he had never been this happy before, so filled with joy and love. He thought he’d be able to cover it up as he did everything else but maybe he was wrong. 

“And you smell like Stiles,” the boy added. “You know, you’ve been smelling like him a lot lately. Anything you wanna share?” Isaac smiled mischievously. 

There was a temptation to lift the boy out of his seat and throw him into the wall. But there was a good chance the boy would crash right through and bring the whole house down on top of them. The foundation still needed a lot of work. Everything in the house still needed a lot of work. 

“And you reek of Scott,” Derek countered, rediscovering his anger and pushing the emotion forward. “Anything _you_ want to share?” His words were harsh, almost a growl. 

The boy recoiled, his face a mixture of surprise and something else… maybe embarrassment. Derek hadn’t meant to be so mean but it was probably for the better. He actually didn’t care if Isaac found out about him and Stiles, not after today. His experience in the graveyard had been liberating, had been monumental. There wasn’t any doubt anymore. Stiles was his. And he was Stiles’. And he didn’t care who knew it. 

But he and Stiles hadn’t discussed revealing their relationship to anyone yet and he wouldn’t betray Stiles by spilling the beans before the boy was ready. He would never betray the boy again. He had done enough of that for one lifetime. 

“Geez, settle,” Isaac said as he regained his composure. “I didn’t mean anything by it. And, yea, I hung out with Scott today, so what? Were you and Stiles doing some more control training?” 

“Nothing gets by you, eh Isaac?” Derek replied flatly. It was a delicate balance, misleading someone to the wrong conclusion without actually lying, but he had had years of practice. Growing up in a family full of lie-detecting werewolves did have its benefits. 

Derek grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and headed out the glass door into the backyard. He needed to go for a run. He needed to chase and howl and just let his wolf loose for a few hours. Then, he might actually be tired enough to stop thinking about Stiles and get some sleep tonight. 

** 

“We need to do something fun today,” Stiles remarked as Derek hopped through his open window. 

“Super Smash?” Derek questioned. 

It was true that Derek would need to keep practicing if he ever wanted to become good enough to actually beat Stiles at the game. The record stood at Stiles 23, Derek 0. Stiles had kept track. But Stiles didn’t really feel like playing video games today. 

“No. I mean, that’s fun and all but I think we should do something else,” Stiles answered from where he sat on the edge of his bed. 

“Okay, like what?” Derek asked inquisitively. 

“Well, that’s where you come in…” Stiles said. “Any ideas?” 

Derek began to meander across the room, arms behind his back. He approached Stiles’ bed slowly, head tilted upwards as if lost in thought. 

“Hmmmm…” Derek hummed. “Something fun to do with Stiles…. Whatever could that be?” 

His smile widened as his knees bumped against Stiles’. His hands moved quickly, emerging from behind his back and pushing roughly into Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles fell backwards along the bed as Derek’s torso leaned forward, falling atop his own. 

Derek’s lips were on his in an instant. Even though he knew it was coming, it still felt like a surprise as the man’s mouth was suddenly pressed against his own. Stiles didn’t know how Derek’s lips moved so perfectly against his. First, he gently sucked on Stiles’ upper lip until he playfully bit with his teeth. Stiles moaned happily at the pinch and returned the favor, first sucking on Derek’s bottom lip which was lodged between his own and then teasing it with his teeth. 

As Derek’s tongue began its invasion of Stiles’ mouth, Stiles felt Derek’s hands move. One was rubbing against the bristly hairs atop his head and the other had wedged its way up Stiles’ shirt and was coursing over his stomach and chest. Everything seemed to heat up at Derek’s touch. His whole body was on fire, pulsing with desire. 

He pushed his caution aside and reached out towards Derek’s pants, feeling until two fingers from each hand were locked around Derek’s belt loops. He pulled forward, bringing Derek’s hips towards him, their crotches now snugly straining against each other as their mouths continued to explore one another. 

It was true that he’d never done anything sexual with a guy. Well, he’d never done anything sexual with a girl either but whatever. He knew he wanted this. He knew his wolf wanted this too. He’d touched himself every night for days just thinking about this. And if the smell of arousal in the air meant anything, Derek wanted this too. 

Derek’s fingers were rubbing over one of Stiles’ nipples. He moaned in agreement. He’d never played with his nipples before when he masturbated and thought now that he may have been missing out because damn that felt great. The sensitive skin perked happily at Derek’s firm touch. 

Derek planted a trail of kisses down Stiles’ neck and then began to suck on the skin at the crook where his neck met his shoulder. Stiles knew that any mark Derek left, hickey or otherwise, would heal and disappear in a few hours but dammit if Derek wasn’t trying his hardest to leave a scar as he tugged on Stiles’ skin with his lips and teeth. It should have hurt more than it actually did, having Derek biting and sucking on his skin, but he was too turned on by the notion of Derek marking him, of Derek wanting him and claiming him, to feel any real pain. 

Stiles knew where this was heading. He was scared out of his mind. He had no idea what to do, how it would feel, what it would be like to actually have sex with Derek. Well, he had some idea, he was a teenage boy with an internet connection after all, but watching online videos and actually experiencing sex, full-on werewolf sex with Derek freaking Hale, had to be two entirely different scenarios. He was nervous and scared but also thrilled and impatient. Despite his fears, he knew he wanted this. He wanted Derek. He wanted Derek in every way possible. 

Stiles began to unbutton Derek’s jeans, prepared to take the plunge and push this encounter past second base. 

“Stiles….” Derek moaned in Stiles’ ear. 

Stiles unzipped Derek’s zipper. 

“Stiles, we should stop,” Derek moaned again, his lips hot against Stiles’ neck. 

Stiles knew Derek wanted this. He had felt the man’s bulge straining against his own. They both wanted this. There was no reason to stop now. 

“Stiles, your dad…” Derek moaned again. Okay, maybe there was one reason but it wasn’t a good enough one. He could keep quiet. Well, quiet enough. 

Stiles reached for the waistband of Derek’s underwear peeking through his open jeans. Just as he went to pull down, he felt a firm grip around his wrist, pulling his hand away from Derek and pinning it against the bed above his head. 

“I’m serious,” Derek moaned into Stiles’ neck, but without breaking his concentration as he continued to plant kisses up and down Stiles’ flushed skin, sucking and licking as he went. 

“He’s asleep,” Stiles groaned as he suddenly found his other hand pinned above his head as well, both being held immobile by Derek, who was still hot and heavy on top of him. It was torture, being so close to touching but having his hands immobilized. 

Derek’s lips were then back on his own, hot and wet. And, okay, Stiles wasn’t about to refuse that. He kissed back with all the gusto he could gather, invading Derek’s mouth with his tongue, hoping to arouse Derek into submission. 

“He won’t stay that way if we take this any farther…” Derek said softly into Stiles’ mouth. Their lips connected once more before Derek stood and stepped back, re-buttoning his jeans. 

“Tease,” Stiles said under his breath as he sat up. Not that Derek couldn’t hear it clearly. 

“Tease, huh?” Derek chuckled. “Would you rather I kept my hands to myself from now on?” 

Stiles refused to dignify that with a response. 

“Didn’t think so,” Derek said smugly. 

“Well, you shouldn’t start things you don’t intend on finishing…” Stiles whined as he sat up. 

“Oh, I intend on finishing,” Derek countered, his eyes intense and his smile greedy. “I’m just not going to let our first time together be a hushed affair with your father in the same building and your Spiderman poster staring me in the face the whole time.” 

“Well, if Spiderman’s not your thing, we can always switch positions. Then, you’ll have full view of Harry Potter on the other wall. Is that more to your liking, big guy?” 

“Hardly,” Derek replied flatly. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Stiles said, standing from his bed and eyeing Derek seriously now. He dug his pointer finger bluntly into Derek’s chest. “Tell me you like Harry Potter, Derek. Tell me you’ve read the books and you used to dream about being a wizard. Tell the truth, Derek. I don’t have many deal-breakers but hating Harry Potter is certainly one of them!” 

“That’s where you draw the line, huh?” Derek chuckled. “I can be a werewolf, I can be a murderer, I can be five years older than you, I can be emotionally stunted with piles and piles of emotional baggage, that’s all fine, but if I don’t find a children’s book about witches and wizards enthralling, then you’re out, game over?” 

“Don’t dodge the question, Derek,” Stiles said stubbornly. Truthfully, he didn’t really care what Derek’s response was. Sometimes it was just fun to be ridiculous and unreasonable. Plus, if Derek said that he didn’t love Harry Potter, that would be the perfect excuse to have a Harry Potter movie marathon. He’d force the big, bad Alpha to love it. And if Derek said he did love Harry Potter, that’d still be the perfect excuse to have a Harry Potter movie marathon. 

Not that there was really any doubt. Everyone loved Harry Potter. The only people who didn’t love Harry Potter were people who were A) liars and trying to be hipster or some crap by not liking something that everyone else likes or B) people who have never read the books and have maybe seen a movie or two so they don’t really understand what it’s all about. 

_Rambling again, stupid brain._

“Well….” Stiles urged, putting on the sternest face he could muster. He’d seen Derek do it enough times to get a pretty good idea of how it should look. 

“Okay, I’ve read them…” Derek sighed, realizing that Stiles was serious about this. Although, he really wasn’t. It was just fun to use the Alpha’s emotional forcefield techniques against him. 

“And….” Stiles said, pressing his finger firmer into Derek’s chest. 

“I liked them, okay?” Derek said, matching Stiles stare for stare. 

“That’s it? You liked them?” 

“Fine,” Derek said, rolling his eyes. “They’re a literary masterpiece. Happy now?” 

The words may have been dripping with sarcasm but there was no jump in the Alpha’s heartbeat. Sarcasm or not, Derek believed the words to be true. And why shouldn’t he? The books _are_ a literary masterpiece. 

“Very,” Stiles said smiling. “Well, now that that’s out of the way, we still need to find something to do.” 

“Isaac was saying something about lacrosse tryouts. Do you want to practice or something?” Derek asked. 

Stiles’ motion as immediate. 

“Shit! What’s today’s date?!” Stiles gasped as he raced towards his backpack in the corner of his room where it had been forgotten since the last day of school and had since acquired a steady pile of dirty laundry atop it. 

He pulled the folded orange flyer out of his bag, eyes racing across the words. 

“Crap, crap, crap!” Stiles said. “Tryouts are tomorrow! And I’ve hardly practiced at all! Shit!!” 

“Stiles, you’re a werewolf now,” Derek snickered. “You could make that crummy lacrosse team in your sleep.” 

Stiles stared daggers at his boyfriend. 

“Alright, if it means that much to you, we’ll go practice. C’mon, grab your stuff.” 

** 

Scott fiddled with the phone in his hands. 

He had sent her so many texts since she’d left him. There were epic texts filled with heartfelt verses of all the reasons he loved her and all the reasons they should be together, simple one-line texts with Valentine’s Day-type phrases such as “I love you” or “Thinking of you,” and seemingly every type of text in-between. 

So there was no real reason why typing another text now should be so difficult. 

But it was. 

He didn’t want to admit it, least of all to himself, but he’d been moving on. Allison used to be the first thing he thought about when he woke up in the morning and the last thing he thought about before he fell asleep at night. Now, though, she wasn’t. She just wasn’t. 

He still thought about her most days, okay everyday, but now it was usually only when he saw something that reminded him of her. If he saw a couple kissing in the park like they used to do, if he saw a girl wearing a messenger bag like hers, or when he saw Skittles near a checkout counter, her favorite candy. Those, and so many other things, still reminded him of Allison, still made him yearn for her, but it was different now. It was getting easier to live without her, to _be_ without her. 

Maybe it was because he had a pack now. That probably had something to do with it. Allison used to be his whole world before, and along with his mom and his best friend, one of the few people he considered family. But now that he was a part of a pack, it felt like he had so many more people to care about and who cared about him. It was like the hole she’d left in his life had been filled, maybe not all the way, but some. 

If things continued the way they were, maybe he’d actually get over her. The thought of living life without Allison was a double-edged sword. He didn’t want to get over her. He wanted to be with her! Dammit, he wanted to be with her so fucking bad! But if she wasn’t going to be with him, if she was never going to come back, he didn’t want to spend his whole life waiting. He didn’t want to spend his whole life alone. 

That’s why sending a text now was so hard. It was another thing keeping him from actually moving on. That, and his hope. In spite of all the evidence to the contrary, he knew there was still some semblance of hope that they’d get back together. There had to be. 

He typed the words like he knew he would. He was always going to type them. 

_Happy Anniversary Ally! I miss you!_

He sent the text knowing she probably wouldn’t respond. She hadn’t responded to any of the others. 

He heard the sound of something landing on the roof outside his window. Then, he heard footsteps and the gentle *tap tap* on the glass. Before even looking up, he knew it was Isaac. Only two people would be entering his room through his window. Isaac always knocked first. Stiles never did. 

He looked up and smiled when he saw his curly-haired friend squatting on the ledge outside his window. Scott motioned with his hand and Isaac lifted open the window and hopped into the room. 

“Whatcha doin?” Isaac asked. 

“Nothing,” Scott replied, slipping his phone into his pocket. There was no point in bringing up Allison around Isaac. Isaac’s position was always the same: Good riddance. 

“Well, c’mon!” Isaac said. “Grab your stuff. It’s our last day to practice before tryouts!” 

“Yea, okay!” Scott said smiling. His mood always seemed to instantly elevate as soon as Isaac entered the room. Any other day, he would probably forget about Allison while he and Isaac played lacrosse. Today though, his ears would be fine-tuned to his phone, listening for his text tone. 

“Should we call Stiles? He’s gotta practice too, ya know,” Scott asked as he rummaged through his closet for all his gear. 

“I told you yesterday,” Isaac said, sounding kind of irritated. “He’s with Derek. Control training. I think that takes a little precedence over lacrosse, don’t you?” 

“Yea, I guess you’re right,” Scott said as he slung his lacrosse bag over his shoulder and grabbed his stick. “I just feel kinda bad cuz we’ve been practicing every day and I haven’t seen him in forever.” 

“You’ll see him tomorrow at tryouts,” Isaac replied. “Now, c’mon.” 

His friend was wide-eyed and smiling. It was tough to say no to him. It’d be like saying no to a puppy. 

And Scott loved puppies. 

“Okay, let’s go!” 

** 

“Let’s just warm up by throwing it back and forth for a bit,” Stiles yelled across the field to Derek, who stood a little ways away, aimlessly twirling Stiles’ old, retired lacrosse stick in his hands. Stiles wasn’t actually sure if Derek had ever played lacrosse before. God knew he had the body for it though. 

“Alright,” Derek replied, scooping up the lacrosse ball and tossing it to Stiles. It was a good, firm shot, even without any werewolf strength behind it. 

Stiles caught the lacrosse ball easily from its course through the air. He had just re-strung his current lacrosse stick and the cotton fibers were still factory-white, almost glowing in the afternoon sunlight. He wondered how long they’d last if he and Derek began “were-crosse,” the name he’d invented for the werewolf version of lacrosse where the ball is flung at Mach speeds and the body moves faster than the human eye can track. 

“So…” Stiles said, as he tossed the ball back to Derek. 

“Yea?” Derek asked, catching the ball easily in his basket and firing it back to Stiles. 

“Yesterday, you uh….” Stiles began. He was nervous to ask but he needed to know. “…you said we were mates….” 

Derek seemed to tense as he caught the ball. His body language was subtle but Stiles was getting better at picking up on it. 

“…and I was, you know… wondering what that meant,” Stiles finished. 

Stiles had read everything about werewolves in the Argent’s bestiary three times over since they’d acquired it. That, combined with the plethora of knowledge he’d sorted out in his own online research and from talking to the pack, made him pretty well-versed in the subject of werewolf lore. The subject of mates, however, always seemed surprisingly slim wherever he looked. 

Maybe werewolves didn’t share the lore about mating outside their own or maybe the hunters just didn’t care enough to learn about werewolf mating as it wasn’t really relevant in the extermination of the species. Either way, besides knowing that mates were kind of a big deal and usually mated for life, he didn’t really know what he was getting himself into. 

“Well…” Derek began slowly, tossing the ball back to Stiles. “What do you think it means?” 

“Wellllllllll……” Stiles mimicked, matching the Alpha’s tone and couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t know why it was so fun to tease Derek. Maybe it was just because now that they were dating, he could tease without consequence. Even though he really genuinely liked the guy, like a lot, he still got the sickest joy out of making Derek crawl in his own skin. It was probably some kind of psychological retribution for all the times Derek had scared Stiles shitless by popping up unexpectedly in his room and throwing him into walls and stuff. 

“…. I think it means like the werewolf version of getting married…” Stiles continued. “…but like without the option for divorce. Like a ‘mates for life’ sort of a thing…” 

“You’re not _entirely_ incorrect….” Derek said smoothly. 

Stiles could tell the guy was choosing his words carefully, like if he divulged too much information, he was going to scare Stiles away. It annoyed Stiles. Nothing Derek could say would make Stiles run for the hills. He just needed to know what he was getting into. He needed the truth. 

“Enlighten me,” Stiles smirked as he tossed the ball back to Derek. He punched a little werewolf juice into that throw, sending it speeding towards the Alpha’s face. 

Derek caught the ball easily but gave a little growl as he did. Stiles didn’t feel threatened though. 

“Mates share a special bond. It’s hard for me to describe because I’ve never actually been mated to anyone before but my understanding is that you live as much for the other person as you live for yourself.” 

Stiles caught the ball and then tossed it again, paying more attention to what he was hearing than what he was doing. 

“You become as attentive to their needs as you are to your own, if not more so. Your wolf becomes connected to theirs too, so much so that their emotions impact your own. When they shift, you will get the urge to shift too. When they feel pain, you’re in pain. My parents were mates. They used to say it was like having a sixth sense, always knowing how the other was feeling, whether they were okay.” 

Stiles felt guilty at the mention of Derek’s parents. He just wanted some information; he didn’t want to dig up painful feelings for Derek about his family. But Derek didn’t seem distressed so he shrugged it off. 

“And like you said, mating _is_ permanent. It’s for life. When your mate dies, it’s like half of your soul dies with them. It can drive a wolf insane….” 

Derek eyed Stiles unblinking as he said those last words, like it was a clue, an insinuation. 

“Peter…?” Stiles questioned, thinking that was what Derek was referencing. 

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek said. “He lost his mate in the fire. It drove him to madness. It’s why I was so hesitant to kill him and why I was willing to welcome him back into the pack after he returned. Because I knew it wasn’t entirely his fault, that the madness wasn’t of his own doing and that in many ways it was of _my_ doing, that he was going through more pain and anguish than I could know…” 

Derek tossed the ball to Stiles. Stiles had always hated the Alpha’s uncle. He gave off a serious “creeper vibe.” But knowing that Peter had lost his mate made Stiles feel kinda sorry for the guy. But not entirely. The guy was still a mass murderer. It was hard for the son of a sheriff to overlook that. 

“So we’re mates…?” Stiles asked, smiling nervously as he tossed the ball back. He was almost afraid to hear the answer. Had he gotten himself wrapped up in some kind of werewolf mate-business without knowing it? Is that why he had become so hopelessly attracted to Derek after being bitten? Is that how his wolf knew exactly how to find Derek the night the hunters attacked? 

But would it really be the worst the thing in the world if he was already somehow mated to Derek? He didn’t know. Maybe not. His wolf certainly didn’t think so. 

“Well, technically, no…” Derek replied. “…not yet…” 

Okay, so they weren’t mates. Okay, good. Taking things slow, taking things slow. 

But were they really taking things slow? What did Derek mean by “not yet?” What had he implied in the graveyard? 

Stiles knew exactly what Derek meant. Derek had already decided, hadn’t he? Derek had already put all his eggs in Stiles’ basket, so to speak. He wanted to be with Stiles, to be mates with Stiles, like _forever_ , like take some sort of werewolf blood-oath to be with Stiles and only Stiles for as long as they both shall live. 

Was Stiles ready to make such a commitment though? He liked Derek, that much was obvious, but did he love him? Was this what love felt like? He really didn’t know. He’d never been in love before… Not even with Lydia, although he had certainly loved the _idea_ of loving her… 

“Stiles, don’t freak out.” 

He heard Derek’s words amidst the scrambling in his brain. He wasn’t freaking out, was he? Okay, maybe his hands were sweatier than they’d been two minutes ago, maybe his knees felt wobbly, maybe his heart rate had doubled. But how else are you supposed to react when your boyfriend of four days tells you that he’s already sure he wants to spend the rest of his life with you? What do you do with that? 

“It’s okay. I’ll wait for you to get there. You don’t have to be sure right now. However long it takes. Ten weeks, ten months, ten ye-…” Derek’s words were cut off by the sound of a car pulling into the nearby parking lot. 

Stiles and Derek both looked to see Scott and Isaac getting out of Scott’s mom’s car. 

_Perfect_ …. Stiles thought. 

** 

“Cool, Stiles and Derek are here. We’ll have more people to practice with!” Scott said as he shut off the car. 

“Yea… cool…” Isaac replied. 

Isaac bit his nails nervously as he got out of the car. 

_They won’t be able to tell. Hell, Scott doesn’t even know, how would they figure it out? Play it cool, Isaac, play it cool._

But Derek’s icy stare always felt like it pierced Isaac’s soul, like Derek could read his emotions like an open book. And truth be told, he probably could. He’d been a wolf a lot longer than any of them, and he was Alpha after all. 

And Stiles? Well, he was Scott’s best friend, not Isaac’s. If he put on a smiling face and just focused on the game, Stiles would be none the wiser. Hopefully. 

Fuck, why did he have to be the only guy who couldn’t fall in love with a normal girl? 

Scott loved Allison. 

Jackson loved Lydia. 

Stiles also loved Lydia. Tough break there, pal. 

Boyd loved Erica. Seriously, who did they think they were kidding? The whole pack must know by now. 

And that just left Isaac. 

In love with Scott… 

** 

They played two-on-two for awhile. They took turns practicing shooting and being the goalie. After awhile, Stiles forgot all about his and Derek’s conversation. 

Okay, he didn’t forget. But he let himself focus enough on the game so that his heartbeat was racing from physical exertion rather than the thought of committing himself to one person for the rest of his life before he was even eighteen. 

Every time he looked at Derek, he did his best to imagine him as just a teammate, just another lacrosse player, just another werewolf, just another _anything_ besides boyfriend or mate or fucking ridiculously sexy hunk of man-meat that looked even sexier sweaty than he did dry. 

He couldn’t let Scott or Isaac become privy to his and Derek’s relationship. Not yet. He wasn’t ready. 

Would he ever be ready? To be openly dating Derek? To be Derek’s mate? To spend the rest of his life with Derek and only Derek? 

Was the only reason this relationship worked because it was a secret? 

He pushed the thoughts aside. 

These were not the thoughts that should be plaguing the mind of someone who has been on only two freaking dates with their boyfriend. 

One step at a fucking time! 

Speaking of which, Derek just tossed him the ball. He needed to physically take one step at a time and rush the goal! 

Scott’s eyes glowed gold as Stiles shot the ball at the net. 

** 

It was dusk and the boys had just wrapped up their afternoon of practicing. Scott was exhausted. They had all pushed each other to the limit. No one had kept their werewolf strength at bay as they practiced. But it was probably for the better. After today, tryouts with a bunch of humans should be no problem. 

The frayed strings on the practice net were looking damn near close to falling apart. And Scott would definitely need to re-string his stick before tomorrow. But it had been worth it. He was sure that he and Stiles and Isaac would all make first string. 

“I don’t understand why lacrosse tryouts are in July when school doesn’t even start until the last week of August,” Scott said as he took a chug from his water bottle. 

“Because our first match is the third week of school,” Stiles said, lifting his lips off of his own water bottle that he had been chugging. “Three weeks isn’t enough time to have tryouts, make your team, and get enough practice time in to make a state-qualifying team. And you know Finstock is going to be all about going back to state this year…” 

“Just be glad we don’t start daily practices until two weeks before school starts,” Isaac chimed in. “Imagine if they started now.” 

“I guess….” Scott conceded. 

“That is assuming that we actually make the team,” Stiles said, his voice dropping. 

“You’ll make it, buddy!” Scott said happily, putting his arm around his best friend’s shoulders. “We all will!” he added as he put his other arm around Isaac’s shoulders too. 

Isaac smiled. So did Stiles but his seemed forced. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Scott added, releasing his two friends and grabbing his bag. 

He pulled out his phone as he made his way back to his car. 

He had one new text message. 

His feet halted as he stared in disbelief. He had one new text message from Allison Argent. 

_Happy Anniversary. I miss you too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy on the dialogue, light on the Sterek feels, I know, but did you like it?!
> 
> We're setting the stage here people.....
> 
> Please comment below!!!


	15. A Man Unveiled

“Line up over here!” Coach Finstock yelled over the squabble of the teens gathered on the lacrosse field.

The boys all moved to form a straight line. Stiles stood next to Scott, fingers itching nervously. It was so important for him to make first string. It was his senior year and his last chance to make his father proud on the lacrosse field. He knew his odds of making first string were exponentially greater now that he was a werewolf but there was still doubt. He wouldn’t be Stiles if there wasn’t still doubt. 

Scott was on his left and he, at least, seemed to be cool as a cucumber. He nonchalantly twirled the lacrosse stick in his hands, smiling widely as Coach Finstock walked up and down the line, eyeing each contestant before him. Isaac stood on Scott’s other side, equally confident. And why shouldn’t they be? They had been werewolves a lot longer than Stiles and each had all but solidified their spot on the first string team last year. And although Stiles may have played well during that one game at the end of last season, he knew that could be a fluke. It probably was a fluke. And the coach probably thought it was a fluke too. The guy still couldn’t pronounce his last name. 

“Alright!” Coach Finstock continued. “We’ll start with some drills shooting at the net. Where are my co-captains at?” Finstock surveyed the line until he found Jackson and then a little farther until he found Scott. 

“Whittemore! Take position in the first net. McCall! You’re in the second.” 

As the two boys began heading towards the nets at the two ends of the field, Finstock pointed to the gap between Stiles and Isaac. “Everyone from Lahey on, line up in front of McCall’s net. Bilinski and the rest of you lot, line up in front of Whittemore! C’mon, let’s move. Hustle, hustle!” 

As the boys began to line up in front of the net, Stiles couldn’t help but feel more anxious. His hands were shaky and he was getting goosebumps up and down his arms and legs. To make matters worse, his wolf was beginning to tingle beneath his skin. For once, he and his wolf were on the same page. Both were nervous, scared even, and his wolf was _whining_. He knew the thing wouldn’t break loose and take over, he had yet to bring his wolf forward of his own volition, but that didn’t stop the thing from being distracting. 

The boy at the front of the line scooped up the lacrosse ball that Finstock threw toward him and stepped forward, prepared to take a shot. Stiles didn’t recognize the kid. He must have been a class or two beneath them. He launched the ball at the top right corner of the net, not a bad shot really, but Jackson moved swiftly and easily stopped the ball before it could reach the criss-crossed tangles of net behind him. 

“Good attempt,” Finstock bellowed. “Next!” The boy made his way to the back of the line, face sullen, and the next boy stepped forward to take his place. 

It wasn’t _really_ a fair test, not that anyone knew that except for a select few. Jackson was a werewolf now. Any shot thrown at him without superhuman speed, namely any shot that wasn’t coming from Stiles, Isaac, Scott, or Boyd, would be stopped easily. If any player did score a goal, it would be because Jackson wanted them to. And that didn’t exactly make for an even playing field. 

The next boy missed the net entirely so Jackson didn’t even have to move. Finstock scowled and again called “Next!” 

As Stiles’ stepped forward with the line, now only three players away from having to take his turn, his anxiety seemed to grow. The stick in his hands was now visibly shaking. The goosebumps were still dimpling his skin and were now pulsating as shivers began to jolt up and down his body. Just beneath, his wolf was still scampering about, wheeling and whining. He had no means to stop it. It was just as anxious as he was. 

Danny’s turn was up and Stiles watched as he stepped forward and scooped up the ball in his basket. Stiles wondered how good at shooting the guy actually was. Danny had always been the team’s goalie. Not much shooting required there. Even so, the boy was quick on his feet as he approached the net. He darted right and looked left, firing a rocket towards the left side of the net. It was fast and dead-on target, a great shot by any standards, but Stiles knew Jackson could stop it. 

But Jackson didn’t. He feigned a dive with his stick but the ball coursed past his shoulder, finding its way into the white mesh behind him. Like Stiles said, _not_ a fair competition. Danny was Jackson’s best friend and theatrics or not, Stiles was not at all surprised that Jackson would let the guy’s shot hit the net. Would Stiles receive the same treatment? It was true that the guy had become infinitely nicer at pack meetings and training sessions recently but that was in private. This was public. This was high school. And Jackson had appearances to maintain. 

“Nice one, Danny!” Finstock exclaimed as the teen made his way to the back of the line. 

The boy in front of Stiles took position. He was small and scrawny, probably a freshman. His shot came no where close and then it was Stiles’ turn. 

Stiles exhaled deeply as he scooped up the ball. 

_You can do this. You can do this. You’ve practiced. You’re ready._

His hands still felt shaky and his feet were beginning to feel like jelly but he stepped forward anyway. He focused his concentration on the net before him and the crouched werewolf blocking his path. 

The boy was a threat, _Jackson_ was a threat, a threat to his future, a threat to a year of cheering fans and respect from the other students and a proud father. He was in Stiles’ way and he needed to be taken down. He was a challenge and a wolf never cowered from a challenge. 

It was enough. For a moment, his wolf stopped whining and focused with him. They were in unison, in sync, and they had the same mission. Get the ball in that net! 

His feet moved limberly, human and wolf working together as he prepared his shot. He was moving maybe a little too fast, but hopefully not fast enough for people to ask questions. It was a fine line. He had to let just enough of his wolf free so that he could score a goal but not let enough loose that it would draw attention. And he certainly couldn’t shift. Shift and it was all over. 

He darted to the right of the net, just as Danny had done, and turned on the balls of his feet. His eyes were focused on the left side of the net. It was how Danny had done it and Danny had scored. Monkey see, monkey do, right? 

Jackson recognized Stiles’ plan and began to shift his weight. The other werewolf took a step to the left, no doubt anticipating a bullet to be firing from Stiles’ stick towards the left side of the net. 

That was the plan, though. Stiles shifted and twirled his wrist at the last second as he fired the ball from his stick, not at the left side of the net but at the right. It was a bullet, probably just barely still visible to be traced by the human eye, but it was enough. Jackson dove to his right, flinging his stick towards the ball but he was too late and he just missed as it whizzed into the net. 

Stiles leapt into the air, fist-bumping the sky. He couldn’t help it. He was ecstatic. He had done it. He had not only scored the goal but had controlled his wolf while doing it! 

Jackson let out a quiet growl from the net, audible only to Stiles. Stiles couldn’t help but smile mischievously at the guy, winking as he made his way to the back of the line. 

“Good one, Bilinski!” Finstock said as he passed. “Keep it up!” 

As Stiles stood at the back of the line smiling dopily, he for some reason still felt anxious. The goosebumps were back, and the shaky hands, and his wolf was whining again. It didn’t make any sense. He had confidence now. He could shoot, he could score, and he _would_ make first string. He knew that now. 

But that didn’t seem to appease his wolf. It was clawing now beneath his skin. It wasn’t pins and needles, it was actual pain. Pain waves rippled along his arms and legs like little claws were slicing him from the inside out. Why was his wolf so upset? What was going on?! 

He couldn’t help but feel like he was bargaining with his wolf. Like it had done something for him and now he had to do something for it. But he had no idea what. It was still clawing, still whining, still pulling for control of his body, and he didn’t know why. He tried to focus on the task at hand. He stepped forward as the line moved. He watched as Jackson again easily blocked an incoming shot. 

But his wolf fought harder. It was clawing at his eyes now, small daggers scratching behind his eye sockets and giving him the worst headache he’d had in a long time. 

Then, the wolf wasn’t just in his eyes, it was in his ears. It was almost like he could hear it growling, could hear it calling. The words echoed in his head but he didn’t know where from. 

_Go! Now! Run! RUN! RUN!! NOW!!!_

The sensation felt familiar, words in his head that weren’t his own. Then, the light switch flipped. The night of the full moon. The night his wolf had taken over and run anxiously through the night to find Derek. There had been words in his mind that night too. 

He didn’t know why his wolf was trying to reach out to him now. If Derek was hurt, his wolf would have just taken over control and attacked like it had always done. That was his trigger. Derek gets hurt, Stiles’ wolf comes running. But now it was like his wolf was asking permission, well demanding permission, but Stiles didn’t have to obey his wolf if he didn’t want to. After all, the thing tended to be nothing but trouble. 

But something within Stiles knew that if he didn’t listen to his wolf now, he’d sorely regret it. 

He dropped his stick to the ground, not even sure what he was doing as he did it. He released control over his muscles, over his arms and legs, to the wolf. He wasn’t sure exactly how he’d done it, how he knew how to strike such a delicate balance with his wolf so suddenly, but he wasn’t complaining. And neither was his wolf. 

His body was launched forward and was running. Each limb flew through the air as he galloped away from the lacrosse field towards the school. He didn’t even hear the shout from the coach or the one from Scott as he reached the building, darted through the parking lot, raced past his own jeep, and reached the tree line, disappearing between the rows of trees into the forest. 

** 

Derek had just finished lunch and was washing his plate in the sink when he smelled it. The window above the sink was cracked open and within the small wisps of air flowing into the room, he could make out the smell of a Beta. 

This particular Beta, however, shouldn’t be in Beacon Hills but rather miles and miles away. 

Derek let the plate fall into the soapy water, his anger rising. He wiped his hands on a rag as he moved through the kitchen, throwing the rag into a wall as he reached the front door. 

He burst through the door, not surprised to find Peter walking through the yard towards the old house. 

He leapt down the steps, keeping his wolf at bay as his anger swelled in his mind, and marched toward his uncle. 

“What are you doing here?” He snarled. “You’re supposed to be tracking the hunters!” 

“I came back as fast as I could!” Peter said, reaching the Alpha. His voice was worried and he smelled anxious. “We have a huge problem!” 

“I know!” Derek growled. “That’s why I sent you to Iowa. To keep an eye on our huge problem!” 

Peter took a step back, almost cowering at Derek’s yelling. He had never known his uncle to cower. But Derek was the Alpha now and Peter was his Beta. He couldn’t help but revel in the fact that his authority was shining through. 

“The hunters have gone, they’ve gone!” Peter said, with just a hint of a whimper in his voice. “I don’t know where to.” There wasn’t a tic in the man’s heartbeat, although its rate was picking up. 

“Then you should have tracked them! You should have called for instruction!” Derek growled again. Peter lowered his head at Derek’s words, refusing to look him in the eye, a sign of submission. 

“I know, I know!” Peter said, straining his voice. “But I had to come back, Derek! It was urgent. I had to show you this.” 

The man still smelled anxious and worried. Derek couldn’t help but let some of his anger dissolve. The man wasn’t lying. He apparently had done what he thought was best. And he wasn’t challenging as Derek yelled at him, but rather showing signs of submission. There was no disloyalty here. Only respect and an apparently hard-to-break habit of doing what he thought was best without asking Derek’s permission. But that could be worked on. 

Derek watched as Peter cautiously withdrew a small glass flask from his coat pocket, stopped with a rubber stopper. The clear flask was filled with a murky white liquid. 

“Here,” Peter said, handing the flask to Derek as he slowly lifted his head up to meet Derek’s eyes. 

“What is it?” Derek asked as he raised the flask to his face, eyeing the murky fluid that swished inside it. He lifted it to the sky to get a better look at it. The rays of the sunlight barely passed through the opaque water. 

There was motion in Derek’s peripheral vision but his eyes didn’t lock on until it was too late. Peter was already pressing the contents of the syringe into Derek’s side before the pain impulses of being stuck with a needle even reached Derek’s brain. 

He looked down just as the final drops of whatever was in the syringe were pressed through the needle that pierced Derek’s shirt and the flesh underneath. 

Derek growled but was swiftly met with two sets of claws roughly pushing him backwards. He staggered and fell back, his muscles betraying him as he fell to the ground. The flask in his hand popped free as his body impacted the dirt and it rolled out of his reach. 

He tried to stand but couldn’t find enough energy to do so. The vision on the edges of his field of sight was blurring and starting to blacken. He’d felt like this before. He’d been injected with this before. 

As the blackness closed in, he could barely make out the form of his uncle standing over him, the white flask now in his hands. 

“This, dear nephew,” his uncle said, smiling. “Is a gift from me to you.” 

Derek tried to growl, tried to move, tried to fight. 

“..And I’ll be expecting a gift in return…” 

** 

The feeling was a little too familiar. 

Stiles was coursing through the woods at top speed, letting his wolf be his guide as he hopped over logs and ducked under branches. 

The difference, though, was that his wolf wasn’t fully in control. He let the wolf guide his movements but he didn’t let himself shift. Though he knew he could, he really and fully could. He had never been able to shift on his own before. He always needed Derek to perform his little “Call of the Wild” howl or someone to activate his trigger by attacking Derek. Memories of his afternoons with Derek and Peter in the clearing behind the Hale house flashed through his mind. 

But somehow Stiles knew that if he wanted, if he just let the reigns over his body go completely, the wolf would burst forth, snarling and slashing. But he couldn’t do that. He still considered his wolf somewhat of a monster and he knew better than to let the beast have total freedom. 

He focused his attention as the wolf led him to the boundary of the Hale property. Maybe Derek _was_ hurt. Maybe Derek _was_ in trouble. Why else would his wolf freak out so unexpectedly and demand to take Stiles on a marathon through the woods? 

He begged for his legs to run faster, for his lungs to breathe in more air, but the wolf was already pushing his body to capacity. All he could do was hope that whatever awaited him at his destination was something that he could handle. And that he wasn’t too late. 

He thought he could make out the sounds of voices in the distance as he approached the Hale house but he wasn’t entirely sure. Between the coarse huffing and puffing his lungs were making with each tortured breath and the sound of the wolf screaming in his head, _Run! Go! Help! Save!_ , he couldn’t decipher the words of the distant voices. He was almost positive, though, that one of the voices was Derek’s. 

He burst through the tree line surrounding the Hale house but didn’t stop running. The wolf still had control of his limbs and it wasn’t stopping. Stiles could see the two figures as he ran forward. One, Derek, was lying on the ground unconscious. Stiles roared, the howl of the wolf coming forth and bursting from his mouth. 

The second figure, Peter, was hunched over the Alpha, using a syringe to suck up a cloudy, white fluid from an Erlenmeyer flask. Stiles bounded toward the other wolf, who looked up to see Stiles charging at him. 

Peter frantically withdrew the syringe from the flask, now filled with the white fluid, and raised it in the air over the Alpha’s chest. He brought his arm swiftly downward, the tip of the needle just grazing the fabric of Derek’s shirt before Stiles was on top of Peter, pushing him backwards away from Derek. 

The two rolled along the ground, Stiles scratching and biting with his claws and teeth. He had let his wolf take full control the millisecond he had seen Derek lying on the ground, not that he had realized the change had taken place until now. Peter growled too, desperately trying to push Stiles off him, but to no avail. 

Peter kept both of Stiles’ hands at bay as the two rolled along the dirt, keeping Stiles from slicing or clawing into his flesh. But that didn’t keep Stiles from lunging his head forward, desperately trying to bite and tear. Peter struck his knee upwards roughly into Stiles’ chest, hoping to throw the smaller wolf off him. Stiles growled and jerked forward, digging his teeth deep into the flesh of Peter’s shoulder. The other wolf howled and his hands reacted instinctively, shoving against Stiles and desperately trying to push him off. 

Stiles felt the sharp sting as claws pierced his skin but it wasn’t until he released the other man’s flesh from his teeth and fell backward that he saw it wasn’t just claws that had pierced his flesh. He looked down at the syringe sticking out of his chest, its liquid contents now almost completely gone, lost within Stiles’ bloodstream. 

He growled and ripped the syringe from his chest, tossing it aside. 

Looking to Peter, he saw the man’s eyes widen with shock and maybe something else… regret? 

** 

“Where’d Stiles go?” Scott questioned as he approached Jackson. Coach Finstock had finally given them a break and it had been awhile since his best friend had left tryouts, charging in the direction of the school. 

Scott had originally figured his best friend was going to the bathroom or maybe had forgotten a piece of his equipment in the locker room. What other reason would there be for him to charge in the direction of the school? But Stiles had been gone way too long. 

“Dunno,” Jackson said, not really paying Scott much attention. “Bathroom maybe? Or maybe he just couldn’t deal with the pressure. He’s not very good, you know.” 

“Good enough to score a goal with you defending,” Scott countered. Jackson frowned, his scent now laced with irritation. “Yea, I saw it happen. He totally got the jump on you.” 

“Lucky shot,” Jackson scoffed. 

“Well, he’s been gone too long. I’m worried about him.” 

“He’s a big boy, McCall. He’ll be fine.” 

“Still, I’m gonna run inside and check on him.” Scott said and began to run towards the locker room. 

** 

The pain was immediate. It spread throughout his body like a wildfire, except it wasn’t a burning pain like the one he’d felt when he’d been shot with wolfsbane bullets. No, this pain was much worse. It was stabbing and aching at the same time, he didn’t even know that was possible, and it was like every pain fiber in his body was being murdered, was being unceremoniously strangled by tiny, unseen hands. 

He dropped to the earth, every muscle in his body clenching and tightening in painful defiance. He curled into the fetal position beside his fallen Alpha, his watering eyes barely able to focus on the unconscious wolf. He moaned out woefully, the noises doing nothing to ease his pain and yet he couldn’t keep the pained sounds inside him. He writhed against the rough earth, the blinding pain coming from everywhere at once. 

“Dammit, Stiles!!” Peter was yelling. The man knelt down beside Stiles’ head. He extended his hand and rested his palm on Stiles’ forehead, softly brushing it against his scruffy, re-humanized hairline. 

“Why, Stiles? Why?! Do you even realize how much you’ve ruined?!” Peter was saying, still stroking Stiles’ head. 

Stiles wrenched his head back and forth under the man’s grip but it was a foolhardy effort. His entire body was screaming at the stabbing pain. The other man’s hand on his head was the least of his worries. 

“Do you even know how long I’ve been cursing your name in secret, Stiles?” the man continued, his voice hushed, his tone almost loving. “I had such great plans for you. You’re smart and cunning. You draw others to yourself and you protect them without fear. I was going to make you my Number 2, Stiles, my second in command, my head Beta.” 

“Fu…uck… you…” Stiles forced out between moans, his face still grimacing in pain. 

“Always the charmer,” Peter chuckled. “I love that spark. I saw it in you so long ago, when I offered you the bite. Do you remember? Had I known this was how it was going to play out, I would have forced it on you right then and there. Then, maybe you’d have been loyal to me, Stiles, and not _him_ … Everything could have been so much different, Stiles, so much better….” 

The man’s voice faded as Peter stood up. Something was churning in Stiles’ gut. His stomach was bubbling into his throat. He could feel something coming. He turned his head to the side and retched forward. The waves surged upward repeatedly and painfully as Stiles’ began to vomit on the ground beside him. The taste was horrible in his mouth, so disgustingly terrible he couldn’t even describe it. 

As the last heave rippled through his body, he unclenched his eyes. The mess before him on the earth was as displeasing to his eyes as it had been to his mouth. A pool of chunky, black liquid covered the grass near his head. He wiped his mouth with his hand, smearing away the drops of spitty, black vomit that clung to his lips. 

“It won’t be long now, Stiles. I gave you a dose large enough to take out an Alpha. Now, in these last few agonizing moments we have left together, let me tell you what an incredibly enormous thorn in my side you’ve been,” Peter recited as he hovered over Stiles’ writhing body. 

Stiles coughed roughly. The pain hadn’t let up and he didn’t know much longer he could take it. The worst of it was the blinding pain spreading up his abdomen, like someone was scooping out his insides with a blunt spoon. He coughed again, nearly choking on some mixture of spit and whatever horrible, black goo was creeping up from his stomach. 

“It all started when my hateful little nephew here...,” Peter said, roughly kicking the unconscious Alpha in the shoulder. Stiles tried to growl but all that came out was another cough filled with black death. “…decided to recruit three little teenagers to help him track down the missing members of his pack. I thought for sure he’d go alone. My nephew always has been a bit of lone wolf, hasn’t he?” 

“You…. the… hunters..?” Stiles gasped, barely able to force the words out past tortured moans. 

“Of course, I was working with the hunters. You don’t think that bumbling brigade of morons would have captured Erica and Boyd if I hadn’t told them exactly where to be and when, do you? I figured Derek would chase after them alone and once he was out in the open, he’d be an easy target.” 

Stiles writhed again, his hands fumbling beneath him. 

“I know what you’re thinking, Stiles, I do. Why would a werewolf and a bunch of hunters work together? Well, actually, I got the idea from you. You, and Derek, and the Argents all working together to take me down. You remember that, don’t you? Well, I thought to myself, who could I get to help me take down Derek, an Alpha-sized problem of my own? I couldn’t challenge him by myself; he was stronger and would surely defeat me. So I made a little deal. I would let the hunters run whatever little half-wit experiments they wanted to on Derek just so long as I got to deliver the final blow and resume my position as Alpha of this pack. Not a bad plan, am I right?” 

Stiles spit upwards, the black goo coming nowhere near his target. The older man just laughed as he looked down at the struggling teen. 

“But you ruined it all, Stiles. With your help, Derek overpowered the hunters in that barn and recovered his missing Betas. Not to mention he added one more wolf to his pack, one more obstacle in my way. So I had to readjust my strategy. I told the hunters when to come to Beacon Hills and where to find Derek alone. Well, you were there, but I knew that Derek wouldn’t put you in harm’s way, not again. He seemed so wary of you and yet so concerned as well. I locked you up in the basement for good measure, so sure that this time you wouldn’t be able to ruin my plans. And then Derek was captured and the hunters had him unconscious and waiting for me. All I had to do was use one of the hunters’ little toys to incapacitate your friends and then Derek would be mine. But what did I find when I got to the cabin, Stiles? Again, you had thwarted my plan! Ahh! It was infuriating. I couldn’t take down Derek with you there because I still had plans for you Stiles. I still needed your loyalty and you’d never give it to me if you thought that I was working with the hunters. So thanks to you, I was forced to betray the hunters and run them out of town.” 

Stiles turned and vomited again into the earth. Buckets of black goo were pouring out of his mouth and his gut clenched tightly with each heave. His hands were shaking and his eyes flooding. He was dying. He knew it wouldn’t be long now. 

Peter grimaced at the sight of Stiles’ retching but just continued his Oscar-worthy speech as Stiles again wiped the remnants of black tar from his mouth. 

“I knew after my little display with Alec, the hunters would never trust me again. So I was back to square one, Stiles, all because of you. I was enraged with you, to be sure, but I was so happy as well. It meant that I had been right about you, that you really were the wolf I knew you could be. I knew that if I could just get Derek out of the way, you’d be my perfect Number 2. This pack would have thrived under our leadership, Stiles, I’m sure of it. I made contact with an old…, let’s call him an old friend of mine, who I hadn’t seen in many years. I actually first met him through your little vet friend Deaton but that’s neither here nor there. He concocted this little serum for me. I knew it’d be dangerous to use it with you nearby, what with your uncanny ability to sense when Derek is in pain, so I waited till you were good and far away before using it. I figured by the time your little sixth sense kicked in, it would be far too late. Blaming Derek’s death on the hunters would be easy. Just a few well-placed wolfsbane bullets and I could make it look like a stealth attack against Derek. You’d all be none the wiser and the pack would be mine, would thrive with me at its head as Alpha. And yet here you are again, Stiles, ruining everything I’ve worked so hard to put together…” 

The pain seemed to be lessening a bit. Maybe he had overloaded his brain’s pain center. Then, his vision was beginning to blur. He was having trouble breathing. He was losing focus. His thoughts were receding. It was happening. The end was coming. 

Peter knelt down again over Stiles’ fallen body. 

“Goodbye, Stiles Stilinksi,” he said softly. “Don’t worry. After you’re gone, Derek won’t be far behind.” The man smiled greedily, as he often did, and his eyes flashed gold. 

A howl sounded from the forest. It was loud and canine and it filled Stiles’ ears. It was close, so very close. 

Peter’s head whipped in the direction the howl had come from. 

“What?!” he shouted, his overconfident voice now replaced with anger and worry. “How’d they find…? How?!” 

Stiles smiled as he forced himself to lift his hand from where he’d been hiding it under his curled torso. The older wolf’s eyes widened when he saw the cell phone in Stiles’ hand, flipped open, and screen lit up. The words on the screen read “ _Connected: Scott McCall. Call time: 4:18._ ” And the timer was continuing to count. 

It had been easy for Stiles. Between his writhing on the ground and Peter’s self-absorption in his own little victory speech, the man never noticed Stiles dipping his hand into his pocket or the soft press of the green “Call” button. All Stiles had to do was press that green button twice and his phone would automatically call the last name on his recent callers list, which Stiles was thankful was Scott and not Derek or his last-ditch attempt to save himself might have been in vain. 

Despite his efforts, he knew it was too late to save himself now. His whole body was failing beyond repair. But he knew Scott was close and Scott had heard every word. Scott would take down Peter. Maybe Scott would even save Derek. 

He heard something stirring to his right. Something was moving in the grass, something was groaning. 

“Damn it all to hell!” Peter yelled. His voice was now wet with fear. 

There was a growl coming from the ground to his right. 

It was Derek. Derek was awake. Derek was okay. 

Stiles smiled as the blackness took him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comment, maybe?


	16. Undone

Derek sat up. His head was still spinning and his senses were muddled.

He could make out a figure in the distance, disappearing behind the tree line. It was Peter. Peter running away. Peter who had just attacked him. 

Derek jumped up, growling. 

As he squinted his eyes, attempting to focus his vision through the haze, he made out something else. Stiles. Stiles on the ground. Stiles on the ground not breathing! 

He wanted to chase down Peter, his traitorous uncle, God knows he did, but Stiles needed him more. He could never put the need for revenge over his need to protect Stiles. 

He knelt down beside the boy’s body. 

_Not again, please God, not again!_

How was it that he could be back here? Again kneeling beside the fallen body of the boy he loved? Could life really be that unfair? 

A large puddle of black vomit lied on the grass near the boy’s head and small trails of drying black goo were clinging to the boy’s mouth and shirt. It smelled horrible, worse than anything he’d ever smelled. But despite his repulsion, that wasn’t important now. 

He pressed his ear against the boy’s chest. His spirits picked up, if only slightly, when he heard the faint beating of a heart. 

He was alive! 

And Derek had to keep him that way. 

The boy wasn’t breathing on his own so Derek leaned over the boy’s mouth, pressing his lips atop Stiles’ and blowing two deep breaths into his lungs. It felt wrong. On the long list of ways and times and places that Derek wanted to bring his lips to meet Stiles’, this was certainly not one of them. 

He waited a few moments and then leaned in again, blowing in two more breaths. There was a gurgling noise as he breathed into Stiles, like gas bubbles fizzing through water. He didn’t know what to make of it but when he put his ear back over Stiles’ chest, he was thankful that the heartbeat was still there. It sounded a little stronger too, but that could have been Derek’s imagination. 

He caught the scent in the air seconds before the other wolf burst into view, out of breath and shifted, claws out and eyes golden. 

“Scott!” Derek called out, unable to hide the desperation in his voice. The boy ran towards him. 

“Stiles! What the hell did you do to him?!” Scott growled. 

Why did Scott always assume that Stiles getting hurt was Derek’s fault?! 

_Maybe because it was._

“Nothing!” Derek yelled back. He didn’t have time to care that his Beta was overstepping his bounds. “Call 9-1-1!! NOW!!” 

Derek had no other options. He didn’t know how to save Stiles. Fuck, he didn’t even know what was wrong with Stiles! And he couldn’t save the boy’s life with the bite again, not when he was already a werewolf. 

Scott pulled out his phone and dialed. Derek leaned down and blew two more breaths into Stiles’ mouth. He could hear Scott talking to the operator, the boy’s voice frantic, but the words weren’t important. He ignored them. Stiles was important. He pressed two more breaths into Stiles’ mouth. 

As soon as the Beta put his phone away, Derek began giving orders. 

“Call the rest of the pack. Follow Peter’s scent. He’s the one who attacked Stiles. Track him down. Tear him APART!” Derek said. The last three words were more growl than anything else. 

“Peter?!” Scott asked, confused. “Why would Peter-…?” 

“GO! NOW!” Derek screamed. There was no time for questions. Only actions. 

The Beta’s eyes widened and he flinched at Derek’s outburst, but then he quickly turned and sniffed the air, catching scent of Peter’s trail and running off into the woods, dialing his phone as he went. 

Derek pressed two more breaths into Stiles’ motionless lips. He prayed the ambulance would get here soon. 

He wanted to break down. He knew the tears would come if he let them. 

But he wasn’t giving up. Stiles still had a heartbeat. And a heartbeat meant he was alive. 

He wouldn’t lose him now. 

They’d come too far. 

** 

The people in the room all moved frantically, yelling at each other and working rapidly as they darted around the bed and fiddled with syringes and tubing and wires. Despite the chaos, everyone seemed to have a job to do. There was a method to this madness. 

Derek was pushed aside as a nurse bustled by, hanging a bag of clear fluid from the metal pole extending up from the gurney. 

The doctor at the head of the bed seemed to be running the show. He was older than the rest and bellowed orders across the room. 

“Get me an intubation kit, STAT! Run the standard trauma labs! What are his vitals?!” 

One nurse handed the doctor a curved metal instrument and plastic tube while another began to yell out a series of letters and numbers, none of which made much sense to Derek. Other people scurried around Stiles’ bed, one girl drawing a vial of blood and another injecting some medicine into his IV line. 

The doctor brought the metal instrument to Stiles’ mouth, wedging it inside. As he brought the tube down, he yelled out. 

“Geez! It’s a mess in here! Suction! Now!” 

One of the nurses hustled to the doctor’s side, pressing another plastic tube into Stiles’ mouth which immediately began to suck out ounces of thick black tar from Stiles’ throat. The doctor tried again, this time passing the plastic tube down Stiles’ trachea. A nurse hooked the tube to a large machine at the head of Stiles’ bed. She pressed some buttons on the machine and suddenly the thing was making noises, forcing air in and out of its chambers and through the long plastic tubes until the air reached Stiles’ lungs. Derek looked to Stiles’ chest, watching as the boy’s chest movements now matched the waves on the machine’s display screen. 

The whole room seemed to calm at that moment. People were still moving, still labeling vials and fiddling with IVs, but everyone seemed a lot less on edge. The anxiety that had filled the room, that had filled Derek’s nose with every breath, seemed to lessen. Maybe the worst was behind them. Maybe Stiles was going to be okay. 

“Blood pressure is stable,” one of the nurses said as she stared at one of the machines’ screens. “And oxygen saturation is improving.” 

The doctor stepped from the head of the bed and walked towards Derek, flinging his blue latex gloves off his hands and onto the floor as he walked. 

“Let me know when the X-rays are back,” he said to one of the nurses as he passed. 

“Come with me, son,” the doctor said, this time to Derek, as he pulled Derek away from Stiles’ bedside and towards the curtain that acted as a door to the ER’s trauma room. 

Derek resisted at first. 

“He’s going to be okay. Now, come with me,” the doctor urged. 

Derek didn’t want to listen. He didn’t want to take his eyes off Stiles for a moment but he begrudgingly followed the man out of the room. 

He followed the man through the ER, passing the nurse’s station and a row of small exam rooms. They entered a small room down a hallway, the sign on the door said “Family Room,” and when they got inside, all Derek saw was a small couch and a few metal chairs dimly lit by the old fluorescent bulb in the ceiling above. 

The doctor sat in one of the chairs and motioned for Derek to sit in the other. After Derek sat, the man spoke. 

“Now, tell me what happened, son.” 

Derek looked down at the floor. He was so used to being the one in charge, the one with the power, that he didn’t know how to handle being on the other end of the interrogation. 

He didn’t know what to say. He definitely couldn’t say the truth. Not that he even knew much about the truth anyway. Peter had stabbed him with a syringe, injected him with something that had knocked him out and when he woke up, Stiles was unconscious, lying in a puddle of his own vomit, and had stopped breathing. 

But even that didn’t make sense. Stiles was a werewolf. The only chemical compound that Derek knew of that could kill a werewolf was wolfsbane and whatever Peter had done, he hadn’t injected Stiles with wolfsbane. Derek knew that much. Peter had handed him _something_ in a flask though, a mysterious white fluid that Derek didn’t recognize. Maybe that’s what had done this to Stiles. But Derek had no idea what that stuff was and the only guy who did know what it was had fled the scene. 

“It’s okay, son, you can tell me,” the doctor said as he reached over and placed a reassuring hand on Derek’s knee. 

_Right! Lie!_

He had to come up with a grade-A lie, like immediately. Something that could explain Stiles being brought into the ER unconscious and not breathing but without revealing the world of werewolves in Beacon Hills in the process. 

“Um… well…” Derek began. “Stiles had come over to my house….. to hang out. We’re friends, you see. Then, um, Stiles said he wasn’t feeling well. He said his stomach was bothering him.” 

The doctor listened as Derek lied through his teeth. He was glad that there were no werewolves around. His heart was sputtering like a boat motor right now. 

“Then, he started to throw up. Like a lot. Like, he couldn’t stop. And he started to choke on it, his throw up, I mean. He was choking and I don’t know, he couldn’t breathe. When he passed out, I knew something was really wrong. I called 9-1-1 right away.” 

Derek eyed the doctor as he spoke. He knew eye contact was an important part of selling lies as truth. 

“Alright, son,” the doctor said. “We’re gonna take care of him. Wait here. I’ll update you as soon as I can.” 

Then, he stood and left the room. 

Derek put his head in his hands. He let his ears scan the busy ER, passing over beeps and moans and voices until he found the steady heartbeat of the boy in the trauma bay. He focused on the sound, the rhythmic lub-dub that meant Stiles was still alive. 

_Still alive._

** 

It had been a few hours since he’d arrived at the hospital and Derek now found himself pacing in the shadows of the ambulance bay. 

As soon as he’d picked up on the voice of the sheriff entering the ER, he had casually snuck out of the “Family Room” and snaked his way through drab hospital hallways until he’d made it outside. As much as he wished he could confront the sheriff, could tell him what he and Stiles really were, he knew he couldn’t. That was something that Stiles needed to tell his father and Stiles wasn’t ready. 

So he had snuck off. Cowardly? Yes. But necessary. 

He had listened intently to the voices inside the ER as he hovered in the shadows outside, focusing his hearing as the doctor explained the situation to the sheriff. Apparently, the X-rays had shown large areas of infiltrate in both of Stiles’ lungs, likely aspiration, which was why he couldn’t breathe. He’d have to stay in the hospital on a ventilator until the fluid cleared. He’d have to remain sedated so as to not fight the vent. He’d have to be on IV antibiotics to prevent infection. 

Derek listened as they told the sheriff that it was he who had brought Stiles in and that if he’d waited any longer, Stiles might not have made it. Derek didn’t know if that would be a good thing or a bad thing in the sheriff’s eyes. Sure, it meant that Derek may have saved Stiles’ life by making sure he got to the hospital in time. But also, if Stiles hadn’t gotten mixed up with Derek and his pack, his son would have never gotten hurt in the first place. Something told Derek that the sheriff would cling to the latter form of logic. 

Eventually, he heard the nurses telling the sheriff that they’d be moving Stiles to a room upstairs. He could hear the squeaking of the gurney as they wheeled it away. 

Derek waited near the trees at the edge of the parking lot where he could remain hidden but still keep the sheriff’s cruiser in plain sight. He hated to think it but he desperately wished the sheriff would just leave already so Derek could sneak into Stiles’ room and be with him. That was assuming that the sheriff actually would be leaving sometime tonight. An assumption that with each passing minute, Derek believed less and less to be true. If it was his kid in there, he wouldn’t leave the hospital for a moment either. But he continued to pace impatiently in the shadows, hoping. 

After a couple hours or maybe three or four or five, Derek had lost all track of time, Scott showed up. Derek smelled the wolf approach and heard his heartbeat long before he saw the Beta emerge from the trees. 

“Did you find him?” Derek asked. He wanted to know the answer but Peter was far from his main focus right now. He just wanted to be with Stiles. 

“We followed his scent north for miles and miles,” Scott said. “Eventually, we hit the Sacramento River. We lost his scent there and didn’t know which way he’d gone. Isaac, Jackson, and I followed the river north. Erica and Boyd followed it south. There was no sign of him either way.” 

Derek didn’t speak. Peter had gotten away. The only one who knew what it was that had hurt Stiles, what had almost killed him, what could still kill him. And he was gone. Peter had fooled him, had fooled all of them into thinking he was part of the pack, into thinking that he could be trusted. As soon as Stiles was better, he’d be America’s Most Wanted, well Derek’s Most Wanted anyway. 

“I’m sorry,” Scott added, sighing in defeat. 

“It’s okay,” Derek said. “We’ll get him. For now, go on inside. You belong at Stiles’ bedside.” 

Saying the words hurt. Derek belonged at Stiles’ bedside. But he would have to wait his turn. 

Derek watched longingly as Scott scurried toward the hospital entrance. 

** 

It wasn’t until the early hours of the following morning that Derek got his chance. 

Scott had gone in, sat at his friend’s bedside for a few hours, and gone home when visitor’s hours ended. The sheriff probably had gotten special permission to stay later, no surprise there, but eventually he too must have needed to go home and get some sleep or maybe head to the station and catch up on his work. Either way, the morning rays had just begun to dawn over the horizon when Derek spied the sheriff walking towards his car. 

Derek was tired, exhausted really, but the thought of finally being able to sneak in and see Stiles gave him newfound energy. He waited until the cop car was out of sight before he made his way to the hospital entrance. He was thankful that no one questioned him as he approached the main elevators. He had heard Stiles’ room number when the nurses had moved him from the ER: Room 215. He pressed the button for the second floor. 

As the doors opened again, Derek read the large sign on the wall: “Intensive Care Unit.” Derek knew that Stiles was in critical condition but seeing the sign now, realizing that Stiles was in the ICU, the place where the patients could go south at any minute, was like a knife to Derek’s heart. 

Even though it was late, there were still a fair number of people around, most of them in scrubs which meant they were probably doctors or nurses. Hospitals never slept. Everyone seemed to be preoccupied with whatever they were doing or whomever they were talking to. So Derek passed silently down the hall, avoiding eye contact with anyone he passed, until he found his way to Stiles’ room. 

Just as he was about to reach for the handle, the door opened. A woman stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her before looking up and seeing Derek. 

He recognized Scott’s mother instantly and knew she worked in the hospital. It made sense that she’d be here. She’d probably been the one to convince the sheriff to go home and get some rest. He’d only seen the woman a few times before, only spoken to her once, so he hoped that maybe she wouldn’t recognize him. 

“I’ve been given direct orders not to let you into this room,” Ms. McCall said, crossing her arms and staring Derek down. Well, there goes that hope. 

“I just want to make sure he’s okay,” Derek said. He tried to return the woman’s stern glare but he knew his worry and anxiety were probably peeking through his scowl. He was so close to his goal; he couldn’t be thwarted now. 

“He’s fine. Now go,” Ms. McCall said. “Before I call the sheriff.” 

“I just…” Derek said, his voice strained. “I just have to see him.” 

Ms. McCall looked at him inquisitively. 

“Why?” she asked. 

“Because… Because he’s my b-…” Derek began. 

_Because he’s my boyfriend! Because he’s my mate! Because if I don’t see him right now, I’m gonna kill myself! Or worse, I’ll let my wolf loose and kill you and everyone else here!!_

“…he’s my friend,” Derek finished. It almost hurt to say. Stiles was so much more than his friend. 

“Your friend?” Ms. McCall sneered. She didn’t seem convinced. 

“Yea, my friend. My… my…best friend...” Derek prayed for some sympathy here. He was so close. 

“I thought Scott was his best friend.” Ms. McCall said. “Although I guess he _has_ been spending a lot more time with that Isaac kid lately than Stiles….” Her voice trailed off, like she was talking to herself. 

“Look! I didn’t say I was his best friend, just that he was mine! Now, can you please let me see him! Please! I need to see him! Just let me in!” 

Derek didn’t care if he was angry and whining and begging. He didn’t care if his eyes were flashing red because they probably were. He didn’t even care if he was making a scene or if other people were looking. He just needed to get to the other side of that door. 

Ms. McCall’s expression changed. She looked understanding now, almost sympathetic, like something had clicked in her head. Derek immediately felt regret. He didn’t like that look. Ms. McCall finding out about his and Stiles’ relationship was essentially the same as the sheriff finding out. The former would almost certainly tell the latter if Derek spilled the beans now. 

“Make it quick,” she said, her voice softer now. She patted him gently on the shoulder as she stepped out of the way. 

Derek didn’t have any more concern for her once she moved out of the way. He needed to see Stiles. Now. 

The room was dimly lit. Wires and tubes tangled their way from the machines around Stiles’ bed, finding their way to his mouth or arm or beneath his hospital gown. One of the machines was humming, another was beeping repetitively as it displayed Stiles’ heart rate and breathing rate. The ventilator made a puffing noise as it pushed and pulled the air in and out of Stiles’ lungs. 

Derek sat in the chair at the side of Stiles’ bed. He couldn’t believe he was here again, lying beside a sleeping Stiles after the boy had been on the brink of death. Images of Stiles on a motel bed, claw marks slowly healing as the boy transformed into a werewolf replayed in Derek’s mind. Derek thought that ever since Stiles became a werewolf, he’d be protected from ending up where he was now, unconscious and on the brink of death in a hospital bed. Werewolves could heal at superhuman rates, they were deadly and cunning, and they were damn near impossible to kill if you didn’t know what you were doing. Derek thought that as a wolf, the boy would be safe. But Derek had been wrong. 

He reached his hand for Stiles’ but then retracted it, like he was afraid he would break him. Stiles looked so serene like this, so fragile. He reached again, gently placing the boy’s fingers between his own. The boy felt colder than he should. 

Derek leaned forward and rested his head against Stiles’ thigh, listening to the boy’s pulse thump beneath his ear. This position felt familiar too, another memory to the motel room in Iowa. He hadn’t slept that night either, though he’d pretended. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep inhale through his nose, bringing in as much of Stiles’ scent as he could get. The boy’s scent was so calming, was so welcoming. The smell of cherries and honey was there, like it always was. Even so, the scent almost seemed muted, not quite right in a way. Apparently, almost dying had affected the boy’s scent as much as it had affected every other one of his body’s systems. 

Derek didn’t care, so long as he could lie here and be with him. Smells didn’t matter. Stiles was alive. That’s what mattered. 

He heard a gentle knock on the door after a few minutes. He knew it was a signal for him to hurry it up, a signal for him to leave. 

Damn Ms. McCall. It wasn’t enough time. It’d never be enough time. 

** 

Through the fog he could hear voices. But just bits and pieces. 

“…Stiles, can you hear…” 

“…everything’s going to be…” 

“…heart rate’s better today…” 

“…I’ll find the one who did this to….” 

“…can you hear me, buddy….” 

“…-ting restless, push another gram of morphine…” 

“…he looks almost peaceful...” 

“…I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor-….” 

“…his ventilation’s improving, change the vent pressure to…” 

“…don’t worry, no one will treat….” 

“…how’s it going to work?...” 

“…I DON’T KNOW! JUST LEAVE HIM BE!...” 

“…almost within normal limits, maybe tomorrow he can come off…” 

“…I love you. I’ll always love…” 

He wasn’t really sure when he was awake or when he was asleep, or even if there was a distinction. He didn’t know who was speaking, how many voices there were, when one conversation ended and another began. He didn’t know who was squeezing his hand, who was brushing his cheek, who was kissing his forehead. He didn’t know how much time had passed. It could have been hours. It could have been years. 

The first time he opened his eyes, the first time he even remembered that he had eyes to open, everything was a collection of blurs. There was something bright, something so bright, he couldn’t help but squint. 

The blurs were moving, waves of brown and white and blue hovering in and out of his view. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t even think to move, he could only stare forward as the blurs passed over him. One of them spoke. Its words were blurry too, like he was listening to them underwater. 

“Stiles! Stiles, can you hear me?” 

He didn’t recognize the voice. He didn’t recognize the blur. Where was he? What was going on? 

He tried to speak but didn’t know if he could. He couldn’t quite remember how. What to move? _How_ to move? It was like his mind and body weren’t connected anymore. 

He heard a soft grunt. That was probably him. 

“Stiles, you can’t talk yet. We’re going to pull out the tube that’s in your throat. It’s time for you to breathe on your own.” 

Breathe? How did he breathe? 

There was pain. He remembered pain now. Pain was… where was the pain? He knew he could feel it but couldn’t tell where it was coming from. 

There was coughing. He wasn’t doing it. Or maybe he was doing it. 

“Stiles, you’ll be sore for awhile. We’ve stopped your sedative so you’ll get less groggy as you wake up. I’ll check on you in a little bit.” 

_Leaving? Wait! Where am I? Who are you? What’s happening?_

“Melissa, call me if there are any problems.” 

“Yes, doctor.” 

“Stiles, can you hear me? It’s Ms. McCall. I’m right here. Just keep breathing, Stiles. You’re doing great. And your dad will be here soon.” 

Dad? 

Yes, his dad! He needed to see his dad! 

There was blackness again. He tried to open his eyes back up but his eyelids wouldn’t listen. 

The fogginess was coming back. 

** 

When he opened his eyes again, he could actually see. Things were still kind of blurry, but at least they were distinguishable now. He couldn’t remember anything at first. His memories were still kind of jumbled. He thought he remembered voices but he couldn’t remember what they had said. And he remembered darkness. 

There was a mask on his face, a clear plastic mask that covered his nose and mouth. He could feel the gentle tickle of airflow as the oxygen flooded into the mask. He breathed it in and out slowly, leaving little splotches of condensation on the plastic with each breath. 

He looked up into the warm smiling face of Ms. McCall leaning over the side of his hospital bed. She was gripping his left hand, squeezing it warmly. 

His best friend, Scott, was next to her, leaning over the bed too and smiling as he stared into Stiles’ eyes. His hand tentatively gripped Stiles’ left leg. It was like if everyone wasn’t touching him, he might not be real. 

His father was on the other side, gripping Stiles’ right hand in both of his so tightly that a thin film of sweat had formed all around his fingers and palm. His father looked so tired. The bags under his eyes were worse than Stiles had seen in a long time. But he too smiled wide as his eyes began to tear up. 

The hospital room around him seemed to be the reminder he needed. 

The Hale house, Peter, Derek, a scuffle, a syringe, horrible pain, a speech, Scott, and then darkness. 

He almost thought he could be dead. But this didn’t look like heaven, well not the heaven he’d envisioned. Heaven wasn’t a hospital room… well probably. Plus, if it was heaven, his mom would be here. So that made him alive. 

Alive was good. 

“Stiles, you’re awake!” Scott said, still beaming. 

“…Yea…” Stiles tried to say but his voice was so hoarse. The word barely came out of his dry, scratchy throat. He wanted to rub his neck or maybe get a drink of water but both his hands were currently preoccupied. 

“Stiles, try not to talk much. We just extubated you this morning so your throat will be sore for awhile,” Ms. McCall said. 

“Stiles, don’t you ever scare me like that again,” his dad said, not able to keep quiet anymore. He leaned forward and pressed his body into Stiles’, hugging him tight and actually lifting Stiles off of the bed a little so he could get his arms wrapped around Stiles’ back. 

“…So..orry…” Stiles choked out through his hoarse throat. 

“Scott and I will go get you some water, Stiles. It’ll give you and your dad some time to… talk…” Ms. McCall said, rubbing Stiles gently on the shoulder before stepping back and pulling Scott with her. Her eyes met his father’s and the two shared a knowing look. 

“Be back in a bit,” Scott said, still smiling. Stiles couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Stiles, we need to talk…” his father said as the door to his room clicked shut. “Well, I’m gonna talk and you’re going to listen.” 

Stiles recognized the look in his father’s eyes. It was the look he got when he had something uncomfortable to talk about. What did his father know? 

Stiles gulped. 

** 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Scott said as he turned in the middle of the hallway to head in the opposite direction of his mother. 

“I’m sure you do…” his mother said quietly, maybe under her breath, but Scott heard the sarcasm dripping over each word. His mother was smart and he loved her but there was no way she could know what he was really going to do. Probably. 

He walked down the hall, turning when he got to the men’s room and pushing through the swinging door. 

He pulled out his phone from his pocket and scrolled until he found Derek’s number in his contacts list. 

“Scott, what is it? Is everything o-…? 

“He’s awake!” Scott interrupted. 

“What? When?” 

Scott could hear the pickup in the Alpha’s heartbeat through the phone. 

“A little while ago. The doctors decided to take him off the vent a day early. He’s conscious and kind of talking, well whispering really. The tube has left his throat sore but the doctor said he’ll be able to talk more normally in a day or so. But he’s pretty much okay now.” 

“Does he know?” Derek asked. Scott could hear the trepidation in Derek’s voice, like he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know the answer to his question. 

“I’m not sure, Derek. But it’s only a matter of time…” 

“I’m on my way.” 

There was silence as the call ended abruptly. 

Scott looked down at his phone and opened a new text message. 

_Stiles is awake! He’s off the vent and he’s doing good. I think we’re out of the woods now._

He sent the text to Allison. 

It was during moments like this, when he was all alone, that he let himself talk to her. No one else knew that they’d begun texting back and forth, more and more each day. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want anyone else to know. Maybe he was afraid they’d try to stop him or they wouldn’t approve. Maybe he was afraid that if he let people know and then she broke off all ties again, he’d be faced with a collection of patronizing comments like “I told you so” and “what did I tell you?” 

His phone dinged and he opened the return message. 

_That’s so great! I’m so relieved. I wish I could be there with you. I know you’ve been worried._

His heart swelled. 

Allison wanted to be here. Did Allison want to be with him? Did she want to get back together? 

He asked himself those questions at least a hundred times a day. But he never _actually_ asked them to Allison. He needed his hope. Ignorance was bliss. 

_I wish you were here too. But just having you to talk to about this has made me feel so much better. Thanks._

He sent the text. It was true, but he couldn’t let her know that texting her helped him as much as it hurt him. He loved having some sort of connection with her again but it just wasn’t enough. He needed so much more. He needed to hold her, to smell her, to kiss her. 

His phone dinged again. 

_Let me know if you find out what or who did this to Stiles. Or if there is anything I can do to help._

The words stung. He hated that he had to lie to her. He had wanted to tell her everything from the start. He wanted to tell her about Peter attacking Stiles, and about the hunters and if she knew anything about them, and about Stiles being bitten, and just everything. But he knew he couldn’t. 

Derek would be furious. It would be a betrayal against his pack. And even more than that, he didn’t know yet if he could fully trust Allison again. He wanted to, God knew he wanted to just pick up where they left off and pretend nothing bad had ever happened, but even he wasn’t so naïve as to believe that was possible. 

He knew there’d be a day when he could trust Allison completely again. And when that day came, he’d tell her the truth about everything. Until then, though, he would work at their relationship little by little. 

And one day it’d all be okay. 

_I will. g2g, talk soon_

**

Stiles looked his father in the eyes. He could tell this was as difficult for his father to say as it probably was going to be for him to hear. His dad sighed and spoke. 

“Stiles, I’m so glad you’re okay. You have no idea what it was like seeing you in this bed, all connected to machines, and…..” His father stopped to catch his breath. Stiles could see the tears still welling in his eyes. 

“Just know that I love you,” his father continued, wiping his face. 

Stiles smiled. He loved his dad too. There was no doubt about that. 

“….me….too…” Stiles forced out. 

“And I’ll always love you… no matter what…” his dad continued. “…no matter what you do… or who you love….” 

The ball was back in Stiles’ throat. He knew where this was going. 

_Please not here! Not now! I’m not ready!_

“Stiles, I want to talk about you and Derek…” 

_Nope! Nope! No, thank you!_

“…there’s…. nothing…” Stiles said before he began to cough into his breathing mask. Apparently he had reached his word limit for awhile. His throat felt wrecked. 

“Shhhh,” his father hushed, trying to calm Stiles’ coughs. “You heard Melissa, no talking, Stiles. Just listen.” 

Stiles crossed his arms in defiance and turned to look at the wall. He was just supposed to listen? Listen to his dad talk about him and Derek? Could this day get any worse? 

“Stiles, it’s okay…” his father said calmly. 

Stiles continued to stare at the white hospital wall. This wasn’t happening. 

“Stiles,” his father said more sternly. He felt his dad grab one of his arms where it was folded over his chest. “Stiles, look at me.” 

Stiles crossed his arms tighter and stared harder in the direction away from his father. He couldn’t help but think how “stereotypical teenager” he was acting right now but maybe clichés became clichés for a reason. 

“You don’t have to tell me exactly what’s going on between you and Derek. Not until you’re ready. But I think I have an idea. The clues were all there. I’ve barely seen you for weeks. Melissa says she can’t even remember the last time you spent the day hanging with Scott. I had heard from two different deputies that they saw your jeep heading in the direction of the forest preserve, which just so happens to be the direction of the Hale property. Then, you show up in the ER with him. And Melissa tells me that he shows up at your bedside every night since you’ve been here.” 

Stiles exhaled roughly through his nose. Everything his dad said was true. He had wanted to keep everything between him and Derek a secret but he realized now that he hadn’t really tried that hard to keep it all under wraps. His dad _was_ the Sheriff. He found out everything eventually. But usually it was because Scott couldn't keep a secret to save his life and would always blab to his dad. Stiles just assumed that without his telltale best friend able to let the cat out of the bag, he’d be able to keep his secret safe until he was ready to tell his father himself. 

Well, plans change. 

“Stiles, I solve crimes for a living. This one was kind of a no-brainer,” his father added. 

Stiles turned his head to look his dad in the eyes. He wasn’t sure which emotion was written on his face, anger, surprise, sadness, or relief, because he was feeling all of them right now. 

Stiles nodded softly. He couldn’t say the words out loud, literally, but there was no use denying it any longer. Not when his dad had already put all the pieces together. 

“Stiles, it’s okay. I’m not mad.” 

His dad pulled Stiles’ arm free so he could wrap Stiles’ hand in his own. 

“Son, I know why you didn’t tell me. He’s a boy, which okay, we can talk about that later, but also he’s older. And he was recently wanted for murder. And truth be told, when I first put it all together I was furious… but I’ve had awhile to think about it and what I keep coming back to is that he saved your life.” 

_More than once…_ Stiles thought. 

“And I can’t ignore that, Stiles. So I’ll give him one chance,” his dad continued. “I’ll give this… relationship or whatever else you want to call it… one chance. And if he doesn’t hurt you, I won’t have to kill him.” 

Stiles didn’t know if he should laugh. Was that a joke? His dad did have guns. 

Was his dad being serious right now? He was okay with him dating Derek?! Did he just give his blessing? 

Well, okay, his dad didn’t really know the half of it. He didn’t know about werewolves, or the pack, or mates, or hunters, or Peter, or any of it. Maybe he was willing to give his blessing now but he probably wouldn’t be so okay with Stiles and Derek dating if he knew the whole world of danger that went along with it. 

But his dad was okay with it now. Stiles could accept that. Hell, it was worlds better than all the scenarios Stiles had contrived in his head about how his dad would react to the news of him and Derek dating. 

So his dad was okay with this. And that was the truth. Stiles hadn’t heard a single tic in his dad’s heartbeat so that meant… 

Wait. 

His dad’s heartbeat…. 

He couldn’t just not hear a tic… 

He couldn’t hear it… 

_At all._

That’s when he realized he couldn’t hear his own heartbeat either. He knew it was there, the green line displayed on the monitor beside his bed was still peaking with each beat, but _he couldn’t hear it._

He strained his ears. He should be able to hear all the people in the hall and the birds and cars outside his window but all he could hear was the hum of the machines right next to him and the sudden pickup in his own breathing. It wasn’t right. There should be more, so much more. 

He breathed deep through his nose. His nose wouldn’t let him down. He’d smell the scents of himself and his dad and Derek and the pack who had surely come to visit him over the past however many days he’d been in this room and who knows what else. 

But he didn’t. 

Besides the realization that he could probably use a bath because there was definitely a hint of B.O. in the air, he didn’t smell anything. There was nothing there. 

He focused on the TV on the wall across the room. It was his last hope. His vision. Surely, he still had superhuman vision. As he scanned the buttons at the bottom of the set, he squinted in a desperate attempt to read the tiny words below each button. But he couldn’t. There was just blur. 

He was hyperventilating now. He gripped the sheets roughly. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. This wasn’t happening. _This wasn’t fucking happening!_

“Stiles…?” his dad asked. “Stiles! What is it? You can’t breathe? I’ll get a doctor! Just try to breathe! I’ll be right back!” 

His father was beginning to panic, but not for the right reason. His dad didn’t know. Stiles grabbed his arm as his dad jumped from his chair. 

“…NO!....” he hoarsed out. “…Scott….I… need….Scott…” 

He could barely get the words out his windpipe. 

His father ran out of the room. It was only a second later that Scott was busting through the door. 

Scott rushed to his bedside. 

“Stiles! Stiles, it’s okay. Breathe, Stiles. Just breathe…” 

“….I’m…. not…..” he choked out. “…I’m… not…a….” 

_I’m not a werewolf!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you so much for reading! Please comment below!


	17. What Once Was

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my awesome readers: thank you for your patience!
> 
> I had about a week and a half of crazy schedule followed by a week and a half of writer's block. But the chapter is done and I'm proud of it. 
> 
> Because I felt bad about the wait (and because I can't control myself), this chapter is extra long. Enjoy!!

Something was tugging at his arm. Stiles tiredly opened his eyes, adjusting them to the dimly lit surroundings. He glanced to the nurse who was fidgeting with one of the plastic bags that hung above his head and delivered whatever medications the doctors had him on.

“Oh, sorry to wake you, dear,” the nurse said smiling. “Just hanging your next dose of antibiotics.” 

“…it’s okay…” Stiles muttered, his throat still sore, though it felt better than yesterday at least. 

Through the gaps in the blinds that covered the two windows to his right, he could just make out the early rays of morning sun. How long had he slept? It must have been awhile. 

He could faintly remember his freak out from the day before. The revelation had been so sudden, so earth-shattering, that there was no way to stop the panic attack before it had taken over completely. Despite his father, his best friend, his doctor, and two nurses combining their efforts to get him to settle down, neither positive reinforcement nor cranking up his oxygen nor Scott’s attempt to hug him into submission could calm him down. In the end, the doctor had ordered the nurse to push some sort of anti-anxiety drug into his IV line. The drug had worked almost immediately but it didn’t just calm Stiles down, it made him incredibly sleepy. He soon passed out and hadn’t woken up again until now. 

Stiles stared at the chair beside his bed. He wondered who had been the last one to sit in it. His dad? Scott? Derek? 

Where was Derek anyway? Why wasn’t Derek here? He had figured Derek would be the first one he’d see, the only one unwilling to leave his bedside. He could picture the guy tackling security guards and growling at hospital staff when they tried to tear him away from Stiles’ bedside. 

But he wasn’t here. 

“He just left,” the nurse replied like she could read Stiles’ mind. 

“Uh…what?” Stiles asked, turning his attention back to the blonde-haired woman. 

“Your ‘Midnight Mystery Man.’ He just left,” she repeated. 

“…my…uh…what?” Stiles asked again. This girl wasn’t making any sense. 

“That’s what we call him, me and the other night nurses. Mostly because he only comes after dark, never talks, and is pretty much a total enigma. We were gonna call security on him the first night we caught him in here but Melissa said he was okay. He’s got that whole tall, dark, and handsome thing going on, doesn’t he? What’s his deal anyway? Who is he? What’s he into? Do you know if he’s seeing anybody?” 

Stiles didn’t know what annoyed him more: that Derek had been here all night and didn’t think to wake Stiles up so they could talk or the fact that this bimbo nurse was trying to squeeze Stiles for info on Derek. Like the girl had a shot with Derek anyway. Didn’t she know that Derek was off-limits, that Derek was _his_? 

“I’m tired,” Stiles lied as he turned away from the nurse. He feigned sleep as she checked his IV line for good flow and then left the room. 

_Was_ Derek still his? Were they still together? 

Everything about their relationship had happened so fast and all seemed to be centered around their inner wolves. After all, it _was_ his wolf that had led him to Derek in the first place, had opened his heart to him, had showed him they were meant to be. But without his wolf, was that still the case? _Were_ they meant to be? Or had it just been a fantasy? 

And Derek had said that ever since Stiles had been turned, his own Alpha wolf had been going crazy for Stiles too. Would he feel the same way now that Stiles was human? Would he still want him? Or would it just go back to the way it was when Stiles was human before all this? Because there had definitely been no romantic interests between them back then… right? 

It almost felt like the past few weeks had been a dream, him and Derek, the dating, the feelings, all of it. It was like an amazing dream that you never wanted to wake up from. But all dreams end at some point and whether he wanted it to end or not, that’s what this felt like. Like the dream was over. Like he was awake now and had to get back to his real life, a life without Derek. 

But why did real life feel so wrong? Since he had woken up human again, everything was just so _wrong._

Being in this bed was wrong. 

Being without Derek was wrong. 

Not being a werewolf was just wrong. 

Stiles could feel his breath tying up in his throat and his anxiety was increasing again. He clamped his eyes shut and prayed for sleep, desperate to stifle this panic attack before it took over. He wasn’t tired but where there was a will, there was a way. So he focused on his breathing and pushed his troublesome thoughts aside, emptied his mind, and lulled himself into sleep. 

Besides, the fantasy of his dreams seemed more desirable than the reality around him anyway. 

At least there he could remember what it felt like to be happy. 

** 

The next person to enter his room was Mrs. McCall who stopped by to say hello before the start of her shift. 

His dad came a little later, dropping off some Harry Potter books, his Gameboy, and an Egg McMuffin before heading off to work. His dad was making it really hard not to still love him. 

Stiles faked smiles to them both, thanking them for visiting, and the second they left, went back to his moping. He couldn’t tell either of them about his inner turmoil. He had already worried them enough with the whole ‘almost dying’ fiasco. No need to add to their distress by letting them know that he was completely and utterly depressed. 

When Scott stormed through the door a little while later, Stiles again put on his warmest, fakest smile and embraced his best friend in a huge bear hug. He set down his book on the small table beside his bed and continued to smile as Scott released him. 

Looking up, Stiles could see both Scott and Isaac had come to see him. 

“How are you feeling?” Isaac asked, choosing words over a bone-crushing embrace, a gesture for which Stiles was grateful. 

“Better,” Stiles said. Physically, he did feel a lot better. Emotionally, that was another story. 

“Good to hear,” Isaac said smiling. Something told Stiles that he wasn’t the only one forcing a smile in this situation. But without his super keen werewolf mojo, there was really no way to confirm his suspicions. 

“So when are they letting you outta here?” Scott asked, pulling up a chair beside the bed. 

“Not sure,” Stiles answered. “They haven’t really said.” 

“Well, hopefully it’s soon!” Scott exclaimed. “We gotta get you back on the lacrosse field. Lots of practicing to do!” 

Stiles hadn’t even thought about lacrosse once since he’d been in the hospital. It wasn’t even a blip on his radar. But now that Scott had brought it up, all the memories were rushing back: tryouts, making first string, all his hopes and dreams for a perfect senior year. 

“Wait, I made the team?!” Stiles asked excitedly. It was great news, outstanding news, and he needed some fricking outstanding news right now. He needed some strand of happiness to cling to. 

“Well, pretty much!” Scott replied happily. “You’re first alternate!” 

Stiles’ hopes plummeted. 

“Oh…” he said sullenly. 

“Dude, that’s great news. You know the alternates play in a bunch of games. You’ll be playing all the time!” Scott said, trying to raise Stiles’ spirits. 

“Yea, I guess…” Stiles sighed. It was just another thing that was fucking wrong. He was supposed to be first string. He was supposed to play in every game. He was supposed to have the best senior year ever. First alternate was just…. barely a small step up from benchwarmer. 

Eff! How had everything gone from so perfect to so messed up in the blink of an eye?! 

Now, he would have to watch week after week as Scott and Isaac and Jackson and Boyd all played first string and used their werewolf powers to basically own the field. And Stiles would just be sitting on the bench as first alternate not playing, not scoring, not doing anything! Was life really that unfair? 

He hadn’t wanted to be a werewolf in the beginning. He knew it had its advantages but the thought of not being in control of his body, when he already had so much difficulty keeping control over his hyperactive mind, was not alluring. But then he had gotten the bite, he had _been_ a werewolf, and everything had changed. Everything was better. He had the enhanced vision and hearing, the speed and the strength, and he had the pack, he had a new family. And he had Derek. And the control was getting there. Everything had been working out. All his plans were unfolding the way they were meant to. 

But now… his life had been turned upside down. 

“…and it’ll be great,” Scott was saying. “So after you’re outta here, we’ll start practicing every day. You’ll be back to your old self in no time and maybe we can even get you bumped up to first string…” 

“Scott’s right, Stiles.” Isacc added. “It’ll all work out.” 

“Yea, I guess….” Stiles agreed, but he didn’t really believe it. He turned away from the other two teens. He was done with this conversation. He was done with all of it. They didn’t get it. They didn’t understand. And it was of no use explaining it to them. 

“You _are_ going to still play though, right? You’re not going to quit the team, are you?” Scott asked. 

“I don’t know, Scott. Maybe,” Stiles replied. 

“But dude, you were always going to play, even before you were bitten. Just because you’re human again doesn’t mean you should give up! Nothing’s changed, you’re still you!” 

Scott sounded so concerned, so genuine. Stiles wished he could believe him, wished that nothing really had changed. But that wasn’t so. It really wasn’t fucking so. He wasn’t “still him,” as Scott had put it. _This_ wasn’t Stiles, not anymore… 

“Nothing’s changed?! Really, Scott!? Everything has changed! It’s not just that I’m not… [in a lowered voice] …a _werewolf_ anymore. It’s everything! I don’t feel like me anymore. I just feel _wrong_. I don’t know how else to describe it. I don’t know if I’m gonna play lacrosse. I don’t know if I’m going to do anything! I just wanna… I don’t know, I just wanna lay here and forget. I want to forget all of it! I just… I don’t want to feel this way…. Maybe it would have been better if I had just died…” 

Scott went from concerned to enraged in an instant. The transition reminded Stiles of Derek, the way Scott became so mad so fast. Like Alpha, like Beta… 

“Die?! Seriously, Stiles?! Do you even know what you’re saying!? You have people who care about you, care about _YOU_ , whether you’re wolf or not! You almost fucking died! Do you get that?! We almost fucking lost you! So you’re not a werewolf anymore. So what!? Suck it up, dude! It’s not the end of the world. You’re alive. It’s time to start fucking living!” 

Stiles stared at Scott in shock. Scott didn’t yell. Like, ever. Scott was a puppy, so to speak. 

Stiles hadn’t really meant what he said. It had just sorta come out. Dying was not what Stiles wanted. And he didn’t want to fight with Scott. He didn’t know where all these feelings were coming from. His brain was just so screwed up, more so than usual, and he didn’t know what he was saying. He didn’t know what he was feeling. He was just so angry and so depressed and anxious and exhausted and just…. just so fucking messed up. 

Stiles couldn’t remember ever hearing that kind of passion in Scott’s voice before. Scott was standing over his bed, still huffing. Stiles could see the anger in his eyes, and the hurt. He was so concerned. All Stiles had focused on was how this had affected him. He didn’t really think how it had affected Scott. Scott had almost lost his best friend, assuming Stiles could still call himself that, which he thought he probably could. Stiles hated that he had put that look on his best friend’s face. Life was a mess for Stiles right now, to be sure, but things were messed up for Scott too. He wanted to take the words back, to make it all better, but he knew it was too late. 

“I’m sorry….” Stiles muttered. “I didn’t mean it.” 

Scott’s expression didn’t change, as Stiles figured it wouldn’t. Isaac was at Scott’s side, his arm on Scott’s shoulder, gripping reassuringly. 

“Maybe we should go,” Isaac suggested. 

There was something odd about the way Isaac gazed at Scott, about the way his eyes gently lingered over the other teen’s face and neck. There was something in the way his hand rubbed Scott’s shoulder, partly a comforting grip but partly something else… like a caress. 

It could be something. But there was so much information missing. He needed to smell the air, to smell Isaac’s emotions. What was the guy feeling? He needed to be able to hear more, to hear the boy’s heartbeat. Was it beating faster? He needed to see so much more. Was there a change in the boy’s pupils or a subtle blushing of his cheeks? 

Stiles felt like a cripple without his werewolf senses. How many more questions would go unanswered day after day because he was so much less perceptive? Would he be able to handle it? Could he ever get used to being human again? Would things ever feel normal again? 

So maybe Isaac liked Scott, maybe he didn’t. Maybe Stiles was crazy. Maybe Stiles was definitely crazy. 

Like any of it mattered. He had lost so much, why not his sanity too. 

“Yeah, let’s go,” Scott said flatly. He turned and walked to the door with Isaac on his heels. 

Stiles stared blankly at the ceiling. 

He didn’t want to feel like this. He didn’t want to feel hopeless and worthless and lost and ungrateful and a number of other shitty emotions that he couldn’t even put names to. 

He didn’t want to hurt Scott. He didn’t want to fight with his best friend or push him away. 

Was Scott right? Should he just “suck it up?” 

He hadn’t wanted the bite before, that much he knew to be true. He had been perfectly happy being a regular old human. He needed to find that again, needed to find that confidence. He needed to be secure in his human-ness. He had to find whatever strength of character he had had before that allowed him to be around a bunch of werewolves day after day without feeling inadequate or inferior. If he could just find that again, maybe this would all work out… 

Or maybe he had just been so blissfully ignorant before and now that he knew what he was missing, _really_ knew, there’d be no going back. 

How could he ever go back? 

How could he ever go back on the lacrosse field as a human after knowing how amazing he _could_ be as a werewolf? 

How could he ever go back to pack meetings or training sessions as a human and be satisfied with being a liability when as a wolf he had been an asset? 

How could he ever look at Scott or Isaac or even Jackson again as a human without smelling that familiar smell that said _pack_ or hearing that familiar purr from his inner wolf that said _family_? 

How could he ever look at Derek again without…..? 

He didn’t even know what. How could he look at Derek at all? Losing his wolf meant losing everything that connected him to Derek. His trigger, gone. His “sixth sense,” as Peter had called it, for when Derek was in trouble, gone. That tingling feeling whenever Derek’s eyes met his own, gone. That warm rumble in his chest when Derek’s lips met his and every inch of him heated up at once….gone. 

As he stared at nothing in particular, each second made him feel more hopeless than the last. And the more hopeless he felt, the guiltier he felt. People loved him, people had wept over his bedside, people had held his hand, people had rushed him to the hospital to keep him from dying. But now, he felt like his words with Scott had been true. Maybe he did want to die. He couldn’t live like this. He couldn’t forget what he’d had and he didn’t think he could go his whole life pretending to be happy when he really wasn’t. 

He wanted to sleep again. Not because he was tired, but because when he was asleep, he could forget. 

** 

As the hours of the day passed, Stiles found his sadness progressing more and more to anger. 

He hadn’t known if there was an angry way to eat a sandwich, but as he tore into the ham and cheese and bread with each bite, he knew that he had found a way and that he probably looked a little ridiculous while doing it. 

It didn’t matter what he thought about, he just kept getting madder and madder. 

Peter. 

The guy was an asshole to top all assholes. He was evil, pure evil. He had a pack, he had a new family, and he just threw it all away and Stiles had to suffer because of it. Who betrays their own family like that anyway?! A complete asshole, that’s who! Stiles was glad Peter lost his mate, was glad Derek had slit his throat, was glad Peter was probably right at this moment alone and angry and disappointed. He hoped that the next time he saw Peter’s face, he was putting a bullet through it. 

Scott. 

He didn’t know why it was so easy to be mad at Scott, especially since he had felt so guilty about fighting with him not too long ago. But Scott shouldn’t have gotten angry with Stiles in the first place. Would it have killed Scott to maybe put himself in Stiles’ shoes? To maybe consider what it would be like to have your entire world turned upside down? To maybe show a little freaking compassion?! No, of course not. That would interfere with Scott’s sole responsibility for caring about himself and no one else. And for someone who claims to be Stiles’ best friend, where was Scott when all the shit went down with Peter anyway? Scott should have had Stiles’ back! Stiles’ exit from the tryouts hadn’t exactly been covert. When he went chasing through the woods to help Derek, Scott should have realized something was wrong and chased after him. But he didn’t. 

Isaac. 

He didn’t chase after Stiles either. He could have been there. He could have helped. Isn’t that what pack does? Look after each other? If Scott had gone running away from tryouts, surely Isaac wouldn’t have ignored that. Isaac only has eyes for Scott, maybe romantically, maybe not. Maybe he just wants to assume the role of Scott’s best friend and edge Stiles out. Well, now that Stiles isn’t a werewolf anymore, he’ll probably get his way. Scott and Isaac, werewolf best friends, together forever. Well, fuck them. They were made for each other, assholes through in through. 

Jackson. 

Once a jerk, always a jerk. He’d probably burn out his own eyeballs before he went out of his way to help Stiles. Well, now he doesn’t have to. No longer a werewolf, no longer pack. Plain and simple. 

Erica and Boyd. 

Last time Stiles checked, he had saved their lives once. But were they there to help Stiles in his time of need? No. Well, screw ‘em. He didn’t need them anyway. 

Derek. 

Where to fucking start? 

Why is it that Derek falls for every fucking trap? As if the hunter debacle wasn’t bad enough, Derek couldn’t even figure out that his own uncle was a traitorous, murdering psychopath who just wanted to reclaim his Alpha power and didn’t care who got hurt in the process. How do you not realize that your own Beta is secretly planning to murder you? Aren’t there supposed to be Alpha super powers that tell you when your Betas are disloyal or whatever? 

And Derek just let himself get attacked by Peter and despite all his Alpha-ness and super strength, still had to rely on Stiles to come running to save him. Aren’t Alphas supposed to be super powerful so that no Beta could ever take them on? But Derek let Peter get the upper hand, no contest. If you’re going to be oblivious to your uncle’s dastardly plans, the least you can do is put up a fucking fight when the shit hits the fan. 

Actually, pretty much everything that happened this summer, for better or for worse, was because of Derek, was because Derek was a shitty Alpha and couldn’t control his pack. Two months ago, Stiles was happy, Stiles was fine, Stiles was perfect. And then Derek came along with his problems, and his pack, and his sad puppy eyes (okay, growly wolf eyes) and Stiles quickly found himself in a whirlwind of hunters, and werewolves, and getting bitten, and falling in love, and… 

…And fricking having it all taken away. 

Fuck. 

Back then, he didn’t want this life. He didn’t want the bite. He didn’t want the pack. He didn’t want Derek. 

Now, he wanted it all back so fucking badly! He’d kill to get it back, no regret, no remorse. 

Mostly, Stiles was just mad at himself. Mad that he hadn’t followed his suspicions that maybe Peter wasn’t the well-mannered, reformed Beta that everyone thought he was. Mad that he hadn’t fought better in the barn and let himself get hurt to the point that he needed to be bitten in the first place. Mad that he’d let himself fall in love with Derek only to have everything ruined. Mad that he hadn’t had the good sense to die when he had the chance. 

The creak of the door caught his attention. 

He barely had time to look up before a sea of strawberry blonde waves was washing over his face. 

“Stiles!” Lydia shrieked gleefully as she pulled Stiles into a hug. 

Stiles was genuinely shocked. Lydia didn’t show up to his bedside. Lydia didn’t give two shits about him, not anymore, not since her and Jackson got together. 

Speak of the devil, Stiles could see Jackson slither into the room as Lydia continued to lean over the bed and wrap her arms around Stiles’ shoulders, embracing him tightly. 

The old Stiles would probably have passed out from happiness right now but the new Stiles… well, the new Stiles _wished_ he could go back to being the old Stiles. Things seemed simpler back then. He inhaled the fruity aroma that entangled her red curls as he hugged Lydia, and he squeezed her back, and he hoped to find that remnant of the old Stiles somewhere inside him, to find some semblance of the quirky laughter and ignorant happiness that made the old Stiles who he was. He wanted to find anything to suppress the new Stiles, the one that was filled with so much rage, and regret, and depression that it made it hard to breathe. 

“I’m so glad you’re all right!” Lydia chirped as she released Stiles. 

“Yea, me too,” Stiles replied, forcing a smile. It probably wasn’t a lie. 

“So, how are you feeling?” she asked. 

“Um…. Okay I guess. My throat isn’t really sore anymore and I’m breathing normal again…” Stiles answered. 

“No, I mean, how are you feeling about the whole _being human again_?!” Lydia corrected, her smile widening. Stiles didn’t understand why she seemed so genuinely happy. 

“Uh… well,” Stiles stuttered, trying to keep his forced smile in place but surely it was faltering. What did he say to that? He couldn’t tell her the truth. He couldn’t just dump all of his emotional baggage on her, all of his hurt and anger and turmoil. No, he just had to smile blankly and wait for her to get bored and leave. Lydia always got bored with Stiles pretty quickly anyway. 

“I mean, it’s pretty great, right?” Lydia continued when Stiles didn’t answer. “You’re probably the first person to ever be cured. It’s like a miracle!” 

“….mmm….hmm…” Stiles agreed, keeping his mouth tightly shut because he could feel the rage building up behind his lips. She didn’t know the whole story. She didn’t know anything. Just let her say whatever she wanted to say and then let her leave. 

“I’m just sad that Peter got away before we could learn more about what he did to you. It’s just not fair that you’re the only one who gets to be cured,” Lydia persisted. 

“What?” Stiles spat bitterly. 

“No, don’t get me wrong, it’s lucky that you were at the right place at the right time and everything but what about Scott? And Jackson? And the whole pack? They all deserve the cure too, you know?” Lydia said, still smiling. Was she fucking serious right now? 

“Wha-…What the heck are you even saying?” Stiles said. It was bubbling over. He wouldn’t be able to keep the hate inside him much longer. 

“Uh, Lyds, maybe we should get going…” Jackson squeaked from the corner but no one heard him. 

“I’m just saying,” Lydia continued, her smile gone but her voice remaining so matter-of-fact like she was schooling Stiles. “That it’s great you’re back to normal and all but the others are still cursed and I just wish we had the means to…” 

“THIS IS THE CURSE!” Stiles interrupted, shouting. “THIS!” He motioned up and down his own body lying in the bed. “To be human again after having... after having….” 

_After having Derek_

_After having love_

_After having everything I always wanted_

“It’s like I could see and now I’m blind. It’s like I was an Olympic sprinter and now I’m handicapped. It’s like I was on the top of the fucking world and now I have nothing. This is the curse, Lydia! To lie in this bed and know everything I could have been and could have done and to realize that now I’ll have to live without it. So shut up about it! Just shut up!” 

Lydia’s face was in shock. He’d never seen her face look like that. The old Stiles would have felt so much regret, would have been so remorseful, but the new Stiles didn’t think it was enough. He wanted to yell and scream and punch and kick. He wanted to burst. He wanted to let it all out. 

“Stiles, I didn’t mean to upset you…” she said softly as she reached her hand to graze his arm. 

“Just go…” Stiles said sourly. He shrugged off her hand and turned away from her. 

Jackson was at her side, pulling her away. But she reached for Stiles again, her face distressed but eyes ever focused. 

“No, wait, Stiles… He said you were unhappy. He told me you wanted this. He said… He said I was helping you…” Lydia pleaded, her eyes filling with tears but her face still determined. “This was supposed to help… He said you’d be like me… He said you’d be immune… He said I was helping. I just wanted to help…” 

“Wait, what? Who said? Who said I was…?!” Stiles questioned, but she was already receding as Jackson’s arm tugged around her waist. 

_He?_

_Peter._

“Lydia, what did you do?!” 

But Jackson had already pulled her to the door. 

“Stiles, I’m sorry… I… I didn’t know!” Lydia cried out as Jackson pushed her out of the room. 

“Sorry for what?!” Stiles yelled but there was no answer. 

“What did you do?!” 

** 

When nighttime finally arrived and the sun had completely set, one phrase was repeating over and over in Stiles’ head. 

_“And Melissa tells me that he shows up at your bedside every night since you’ve been here”_

He stared at the doorway as the minutes passed by. 

Derek. 

He didn’t know how he’d feel when he saw him. Angry? Sad? Overjoyed? All of the above? 

How many things did he and Derek need to talk about? Countless. But he just had to see him. Now. 

The minutes continued to pass. A nurse came in to check in on him and replaced his IV fluids. He nearly jumped when she came in but sunk back into the bed when he realized it wasn’t who he was waiting for. 

After awhile, he was still staring at the door but his eyes were relaxed and he was really staring into nothing. Time passed, who knows how much. 

Then the click of the door pulled him back to reality. 

There he was. 

Finally. 

Derek. 

He stood in the doorway for a second. He was just how Stiles remembered, which made sense, it’s not like it had been ten years or anything, just ten days. But Stiles wasn’t sure if that was really a comfort. He wanted Derek to be the same. He wanted everything to be the same. But seeing Derek now, seeing how completely unchanged he was, just reminded Stiles of how different Stiles was, how everything about him was now completely and totally different. It was like the two of them didn’t match anymore. 

Derek’s face was unreadable, his eyes soft but his jaw clenched tight. His arms were at his sides, his feet motionless. He didn’t come any closer but didn’t back away. He just stood there, staring. Stiles just stared back. 

There was no guide here, for either of them. What did they say? What did they do? 

As he eyed Derek silently, he couldn’t help but _want_. Looking at Derek’s arms, he remembered what it felt like to have them wrapped around his body and couldn’t help but yearn for that feeling just one more time. When he looked at Derek’s neck, he remembered the sweet, burning taste of Derek’s scent and human or not, he couldn’t help but want to put his nose there just one more time and inhale deeply. When he looked at Derek’s lips, he couldn’t help but wish for one more kiss, one more passionate kiss that took his breath away and made time stand still. He just wanted it all. He just wanted Derek. 

When the realization clicked, Stiles’ heart began to beat faster. His palms began to sweat and his body felt hotter. Derek was still what he wanted. Maybe everything had changed, maybe everything was different but this one small, simple truth was something that he could hold onto. _He still wanted Derek_. The fear that he had been having all day, the fear that he wouldn’t want to be with Derek anymore, the fear that no more wolf meant no more feelings for Derek, it was gone. It was unfounded. It was pointless. 

Because he still wanted to be with Derek. 

Being with Derek still felt _right_. 

But that small glimmer of hope didn’t keep him from also feeling like something was missing. Something about this still felt _wrong_ too. It was like a part of himself had been stolen, had been taken away, and as happy as he was that he still wanted to be with Derek, not having that missing piece of himself made him feel equally as miserable. And he knew what the missing piece was… 

There was no wolf jumping beneath his skin. There was supposed to be a tingling feeling racing up and down his spine. There was supposed to be a scent in the air, a smell laced with whiskey and leather and baked goods but also with affection and arousal and love. There was supposed to be the echo of two heartbeats in his ears, one his own and one Derek’s, both calling out to each other as they embraced. And though he could see Derek just fine from where he sat, there was just supposed to be so much more to take in. It was like he was looking at Derek through dirty glasses and no matter how he squinted or blinked, they’d never be clean. 

Could he ever get used to this? Could he ever get used to the fact that everything about being with Derek felt so perfectly right and so entirely wrong at the same time? 

That’s when the wave hit him. It felt like a panic attack at first, the way his breathing hitched and his eyes watered. But as it grew stronger, it wasn’t panic he was experiencing. It was misery. It was sadness, pure sadness. 

He just wanted everything back the way it was, the way it had been before Peter had attacked him and before he wasn’t a werewolf anymore and back when everything was just the way it was supposed to be. He just wanted to go back to the restaurant and the tree in the woods and the pancake place and the graveyard and his bedroom and all the places where he and Derek had just been so happy. He just wanted to feel that happiness again, to feel normal again. 

He had been so worried about such stupid things before the attack. He had been worried if things with Derek were going too fast, if he really loved Derek, if he was ready to be Derek’s mate, if he was a terrible kisser, if he was ready for their first time… now all of those worries seemed so minuscule compared to all the one’s he had now. 

He just didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know how to make this work, he didn’t know how to move forward. 

The tears were coursing down his cheeks and he didn’t even know when that had started. He didn’t like crying, he hated it actually, but he couldn’t stop it. And it wasn’t slowing down. He couldn’t catch his breath and he sniffled loudly as the wet snot started leaking out of his nose. He wasn’t just crying, he was ugly crying, that horribly unflattering way that everyone cries every once in awhile when they’re alone and everything that troubles them hits them at the same time and they just have to wail and blubber and sniffle without reserve until all the bad feelings have been let out. 

But Derek shouldn’t see this. No one should see this. But he couldn’t stop nonetheless. The tears just kept coming and coming. 

He didn’t try to stop him as Derek approached the bed and climbed in it next to Stiles. Derek pulled Stiles’ head into his chest and Stiles gripped the cotton fabric of Derek’s shirt, pulling him close and just crying into it. Derek’s arm wrapped around Stiles’ torso and pulled their bodies tightly together. Derek’s other hand gently stroked over Stiles’ head as Stiles continued to pour out tears and whimpers and so much sadness that if he was still able to smell emotions, would probably be so pungent in the air that you’d think he was at a funeral or something. 

Derek didn’t speak a word and neither did Stiles. Maybe they didn’t need to speak or maybe they just couldn’t. Stiles didn’t care. He just needed this. He just needed to let it out. 

So he did. 

** 

Derek clutched Stiles tightly. The boy cried into his shirt, soaking it in tears and snot, but Derek didn’t care. He had Stiles in his arms, safe and warm, and he would give him all the comfort he needed. 

Derek was tempted to break down too, to just cry it all out. If there was anyone he could cry in front of, it was Stiles. But that felt selfish. Stiles was the one who took the fall. Stiles was the one who had been changed. Stiles was the one who probably felt like a part of his life, a part of his very soul, had been yanked away from him. So Derek sat silently as Stiles cried into his chest and he gently rubbed Stiles’ head and shoulder the way he remembered his mother doing for him when he was small. 

Eventually, as the minutes passed, too many to count, the tears began to slow and Stiles’ breathing became more regular. Even so, Stiles still clutched Derek’s shirt tightly and rested his head against Derek’s chest. Derek let him. With each breath, he could smell more and more of the sweet cherry and honey of Stiles’ scent and less and less of the coarse stench of pure anguish and sadness. Derek didn’t need anything more than this, than to have Stiles close and to know he was going to be okay. Because despite whatever evidence to the contrary, Derek would make sure that they made it through this. He would make sure they were both okay. 

When Stiles’ breathing and heartbeat was completely regular and his scent back to normal, Derek looked down to see the boy had fallen asleep in his arms. 

They needed to talk, Derek knew. This was just the beginning, after all. But that could all wait. For now, Derek could let him sleep, a small comfort but maybe a necessary one. 

Derek gently tugged the sheets of the bed upwards until they were up to Stiles’ shoulders. He relaxed his head against the hospital pillow and closed his own eyes as he kept Stiles close and safe. 

With a warm body in his arms and a sweet scent in his nose, Derek soon drifted off to sleep, a place where he could dream… 

~ 

“I don’t care, Stiles! I’m not doing it!” 

The words were coming from his mouth loud and fast. He was pacing back and forth through their bedroom, in front of the bed where Stiles was sitting. But Stiles was keeping his cool much better than Derek was. Well, Stiles had always been better at keeping his cool when it came to this subject, the subject of their current argument, the argument that Derek refused to give in on. 

“Derek…” Stiles began, keeping his voice calm and collected. Derek recognized the tone in his voice. It was his “if I keep calm, Derek will be calm” tone. Well, it wasn’t going to work this time. He was angry and he was going to stay angry no matter what tone Stiles used. 

“No, Stiles! NO! I’m the Alpha, I’m in charge here, it’s _MY_ decision!” Derek spat. That should get Stiles heated up. Stiles hated when Derek played the Alpha card like that, especially on issues that involved their daughter. This would get him angry, as angry as Derek maybe. His calm demeanor could fuck itself. 

“Der..ek…” The man began again, his voice almost as calm as before but faltering ever so slightly. It was working. The man was getting heated. And if he could get him heated, they’d be in a fight. And if they fought, he could solidify his position and refuse to back down. And then he wouldn’t have to do what he didn’t want to do. Well, in this case, what he _couldn’t_ do. 

“Sit,” the man said, voice quiet and calm. 

He didn’t _have_ to listen. He was the Alpha. He technically didn’t _have_ to do anything he didn’t want to do. But there was something about when Stiles spoke, especially when his eyes were full and focused like they were now, that made him _want_ to listen. It was probably a mate thing. But mate thing or not, it could be infuriating. 

He reluctantly stopped his pacing and moved to the edge of the bed. He sat down but he’d be damned if he was going to sit right where the man had motioned on the bed. He sat further away, leaving a good two feet of space between them. 

The man’s eyes narrowed as they locked with Derek’s. He motioned again, finger roughly digging into the area of the comforter next to him. 

The motion should infuriate Derek, should remind him of the way a master beckons at his dog, should make him want to throw Stiles into a wall and command him to never act like that around Derek again. But it didn’t. It just made him want to go to where Stiles beckoned, made him want to cross the bed in an instant and grab the man in his arms and embrace him, to kiss his neck and rip his shirt, to throw him back on the bed and… 

No. This was hardly the time even if it was the place. 

_Fuck_ , he thought to himself as he slid along the edge of the bed until he was next to Stiles, their thighs softly brushing. 

Stiles smiled as Derek approached and goddamn it if that wasn’t the most attractive part about Stiles’ face. Well, besides maybe his eyes. The way his lips contorted into a perfect pose that wasn’t quite small enough to be a smirk but wasn’t wide enough to be a dopey, shit-eating grin either. It was just some perfect little smile that he got whenever he got his way. And Derek was screwed because he lived to see that smile. He loved it just as much now as he did when the man had been seventeen. The man had changed so much over the years. They both had. But in that smile, Derek could still make out the scrawny, pale-skinned teenager he’d once been. 

Stiles reached and grabbed Derek’s hand, pulling it into his lap and embracing it in both of his own. 

“Derek,” he said for a third time, his calm tone back in full force. “We decided this a long time ago.” 

“We were young and stupid,” Derek countered, not yelling like he was before but still keeping his words dripping with anger. It’d take more than hand-holding and a soft voice for Stiles to change Derek’s mind on this one. 

“She’s sixteen…” Stiles started. But Derek interrupted, the yelling coming back, although maybe not as loud as before. 

“Exactly! She’s _only_ sixteen! She’s not old enough to make this kind of a decision! We’re her parents, Stiles! It’s our job to protect her!” 

Stiles’ grip on Derek’s hand tightened. How many times over the years had they held each other’s hands like this? Too many to count. It was a source of comfort, for both of them, feeling the other’s warm palm against your own. But it was also a tactic. Derek knew what Stiles was doing. That’s why Derek was refusing to look Stiles in the eyes. The eyes were Derek’s weakness, and Stiles knew it. 

“She’s old enough to make decisions about her life, Derek. Look, she’s old enough to drive. She’s old enough to fall in love. She’s even old enough to mate.” Stiles argued. 

“Old enough to WHAT?!” Derek growled. “If I find out that skeevy, little bastard has taken one ounce of her innocence before she’s married, Stiles, I’ll…. I’ll….” 

“Skeevy, little bastard?” Stiles chuckled. “That’s how we’re gonna start referring to the boy that’s been sitting at our dinner table every Saturday night since he was in diapers?” 

“You remember what his father was like at that age,” Derek countered stubbornly, refusing to laugh along even though Stiles’ laugh was the most contagious of laughs. 

“Yeah…” Stiles sighed. “Jackson was a piece of work, wasn’t he?” 

“So it’s decided,” Derek said as he started to stand. “She’s not old enough to make this kind of decision _and_ we’ll force her to break up with the skeevy, little bastard. Glad you agree.” 

Stiles pulled on Derek’s hand, forcing him to sit down again. 

“Derek, look at me,” Stiles said, voice still calm as a breeze but with a fierceness to it too. He obliged reluctantly, looking upward until he met Stiles’ warm, butterscotch eyes. His anger was already starting to retreat. _Dammit!_ He thought. The man knew his weaknesses too well. 

“She wants to be pack,” Stiles said, eyes wide and warm. 

“She _is_ pack, Stiles! Humans can be pack. Just look at Allison. Look at Lydia. And there are as many human kids in the pack now as there are wolf. She _is_ pack,” Derek said. He wasn’t yelling now; he was pleading. 

“She’s spent her whole life behind a pane of glass, everyday gazing longingly at a world she wants to be a part of, a world she should be a part of, but isn’t. And she only went along with it because we told her it is tradition to wait until a human child is sixteen before giving them the choice to get the bite. A tradition _we_ made up, by the way, so we’re lucky she waited this long to demand it. Don’t you see, Derek? It’s time. Her papa is a werewolf, her daddy is a werewolf, her boyfriend is a werewolf. It’s _her_ time. She wants it, Derek. She _needs_ it.” 

Damn Stiles and his beautiful, round eyes and his calm voice and his obviously pre-contemplated speech. Didn’t he know what he was asking of Derek? Bite his own daughter? The lie about the tradition was for her own safety! And the other parents in the pack had adopted the rule for their own kids so it wasn’t _really_ a lie now anyway. 

Stiles doesn’t know; he’s never seen it. People die when they get the bite. All Stiles has ever seen is successful transformations and babies born as werewolves but he’s never seen what happens when a person rejects the bite. And those little anomalies that happened when Lydia and Jackson got bit back in high school don’t count. 

Derek _has_ seen it, though. It seemed like a lifetime ago, now, but he remembered. He was staying with Melinda and her pack in New York. One of the Betas had a new bride. She had been welcomed into the pack and requested the bite. Melinda obliged and they had a big ceremony for the event. And everyone watched in horror as she spasmed on the ground, screaming uncontrollably, as blood poured from the site of the bite. And then her frantic heart sped up and sped up until it suddenly stopped, never to beat again, bursting inside her chest. The look in her new husband’s eyes as he clutched his dead wife was enough to give Derek nightmares. 

And now Stiles wanted Derek to bite their daughter. He couldn’t. It was a risk he was unwilling to take. He just couldn’t. 

“Stiles…” Derek began, taking a deep breath. “I can’t do it.” His anger was nowhere to be found. Damn Stiles for that. His worry was showing itself, and his fear, and his desperation. He couldn’t hide it. Stiles had broken down his emotional defenses long ago. 

“She could die. It could kill her. I… could kill her… I can’t kill her. I… can’t.” Derek added, forcing the words out. Letting anyone know this side of him, even Stiles, even now, was too hard for Derek. Just the thought of killing his daughter, of again being responsible for the death of someone he loved, was enough to bring all the memories back. The memories of his family and the fire, of his sister and daughter’s namesake, of Stiles when he was lying on the backboard of the racing ambulance. The water was building up underneath his eyelids. He searched desperately for his anger, anything to cover up these feelings so he could pretend they weren’t there. 

“We almost lost her once, Stiles. I won’t lose her again.” Derek finished, his voice almost choking up. 

A wave rippled through Stiles’ irises and his butterscotch eyes were replaced by the cool violet spheres that made Derek’s heart swell, the mark of the Alpha’s mate. He could feel nothing but love when he looked into those eyes. 

“We won’t lose her,” Stiles said softly but with conviction. There was no tic in the man’s heartbeat but that didn’t make his words true. He didn’t know. He couldn’t be sure. 

“You don’t know…” Derek started. 

“Shh…” Stiles hushed. He lifted Derek’s hand up and placed it against his chest, just atop his sternum. Derek’s hand flattened instinctively, his palm and fingers extending over the man’s shirt. He could feel the man’s heart thumping steadily beneath his fingertips. Then, while his one hand held Derek’s in place, Stiles brought his other hand to Derek’s face, his palm cupping just to the right of Derek’s chin and his fingers extending across Derek’s cheek. Their eyes were locked, Stiles’ confident and focused, staring deep into Derek’s worried and hesitant. 

“I know,” Stiles said, his gaze never breaking. Derek couldn’t help but feel comforted. He didn’t know how or why but he believed those crazy purple eyes and the man’s steady heart more than he believed his own shaking hands or racing heartbeat or stabbing thoughts of doubt. 

“ _I know_ ,” Stiles repeated, this time with more conviction. He didn’t understand where Stiles’ confidence came from, how he could know with such vigor that everything would be okay. But Derek couldn’t help but trust him with this. He’d trusted Stiles with everything else. 

“It’s going to be alright. _She’s going to be alright_ ,” Stiles added for good measure, his comforting words filling Derek’s ears. 

Stiles pulled their faces together and their lips locked instinctively. Derek’s lip found its place in that crooked nook in-between Stiles’ lips and sucked gently. The kiss was slow and soft, and Derek couldn’t help but bring his free hand up and wrap it around Stiles’ torso, pulling him closer. Derek closed his eyes, sinking into the kiss, and a small tear overflowed from his wet eyelid and trickled down his cheek. 

He _could_ do this, for Stiles, and for his daughter, both of whom he loved more than anything else on this planet. He didn’t even know how he’d lost the argument so quickly, how the man knew exactly what to do and say to make him submit, but if he couldn’t trust Stiles and the strength of their connection, what could he trust? 

Derek had always liked being the protector, being the one to watch over Stiles and their family and their pack. It was his instinct to keep them safe. It gave him a sense of duty and a sense of purpose. But Derek had come to realize, especially now, that in those moments of panic, those moments of crisis, those times when even Derek couldn’t cope with the reality before them, Stiles was always there to pick up the reigns and be the protector, be the decision-maker, be the one that kept Derek safe and sane and calm. Stiles was everything Derek needed, everything he wanted, and Derek had no idea how he’d ended up with someone so perfect. 

He broke free from the kiss, no small task, just for a moment, just to utter three words. 

“I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you too,” Stiles answered, just as softly. Then, Stiles growled playfully and pushed Derek back on the bed before bringing their lips back together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if that last dream sequence doesn't give you the most sterek-y love feels ever, then i give up. that scene is my favorite thing i've written thus far and i hope you loved it as much as i did!
> 
> please comment all your thoughts on this chapter and this story below! i love to hear from you all! 
> 
> and i'll try not to make you wait too long for the next chapter :)


	18. Lost,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my wonderful and amazing readers:
> 
> I have made you wait way too long for an update and for that, I apologize. I am so sorry. I didn't mean to leave you hanging high and dry.
> 
> Excuses aside, if you're still here and still reading, THANK YOU! 
> 
> These last three chapters have given me some turmoil. I've gone back and forth on quite a few plot developments. But 18 is done so enjoy! 
> 
> I've started 19 and hope to have it done within the week. And I'll try to get the final chapter written and posted not long after.
> 
> I feel so bad for the hiatus that I'm gonna finish this story as soon as I can so you, my lovely readers, can enjoy it.
> 
> So read on... and thank you so much for sticking with me :)

For those few moments of hazy interim between being asleep and being awake, Derek had the biggest smile on his face. For those precious few moments, he was so happy.

Then, he woke up. 

He looked down at Stiles asleep on his chest and realized it had been a dream. The happiness was instantly replaced by longing. It wasn’t real. Why couldn’t it be real? 

With everything that had happened recently, he had completely forgotten about his odd and wonderful dreams. The last one before this had been during the night of the full moon, when he was in the cabin with Stiles. That had been a troubling dream, to be sure, but this last one had been the worst. Well, it had been _the best_. It had been perfect. It was everything he wanted. He wanted a future with Stiles. He wanted Stiles to be his mate. He wanted to have a family with him. He wanted to fight, and make up, and celebrate, and laugh, and cry, and live every single day from now until eternity with him. 

But that’s why it was the worst. Because the dreams were everything he wanted and yet they could never be. 

He used to think that maybe these dreams were premonitions, that they were revelations from some higher power, showing him little glimpses of the life he and Stiles would build together. He thought they were destiny’s way of bringing him and Stiles together so they could make these dreams a reality. 

But now… 

Stiles was human. 

And that meant these dreams would remain just that, only dreams. 

It didn’t mean that he no longer loved Stiles, because God he did, he loved him so much it hurt to be away from him, but there was something about losing that hope, losing that hope of a future with Stiles as the Alpha’s mate, that just sliced through his heart like a knife. 

Derek felt Stiles stir against him. 

Derek wanted to tell him, wanted to tell him everything, but the boy had already been through so much. Derek couldn’t add even an ounce more hurt or anguish on top of the boy’s already troubled soul. 

He wanted to tell him that an Alpha’s mate was a special and sacred role within the pack. It was a role that came with leadership and responsibility. The Alpha’s mate was the queen to the Alpha’s king (so to speak, they didn’t _have_ to be a man and a woman, although they often were). The Alpha’s mate was a second-in-command of sorts and they led the pack with the Alpha as partners. And for all of that to work, the Alpha’s mate had to be a wolf. It was a requirement. Just like how the Alpha had to be a wolf. That’s how the power was established in a pack, how bonds were formed and a hierarchy determined, through each wolf’s recognition of their place among the other wolves. Being human just wouldn’t get the job done… 

They could still be together, they still _would_ be together. They could even call themselves “mates” if they really wanted, even if it wouldn’t truly be so. Maybe that part didn’t matter. But if felt like it mattered. Derek had grown accustomed to the thought of building this specific future with Stiles. He wanted to see those violet eyes every morning. He wanted to share that special bond with Stiles that connected them in a way that was so intimate, so vital to their very survival, that it could never be broken. He wanted his Betas to have an innate sense of duty and respect for Stiles as his mate, the same way their inner wolves had an innate sense of duty and respect for their Alpha. He wanted Stiles to help him build his pack and make it strong, to provide the calming and unifying presence that his own mother had provided as the Alpha’s mate. He wanted it all. 

He couldn’t help but feel cheated. He felt like the universe had found one more way to make his life just a little more unbearable. He wished he was still a Beta, a desire he hadn’t clung to in a long while, but now he couldn’t help but wish for those days again. Betas always had it easier in the mating department. It didn’t matter if your mate was werewolf or human, your bond with them would be essentially the same. You’d still love them more than yourself, still be connected to that person in a way that couldn’t be described or explained, still go bat-shit insane if you lost them, but the Beta’s mate held no exceptional power or position within the pack. If Derek was still a Beta, it wouldn’t matter that Stiles was human again… They could just have each other, no regret, no remorse… It would be perfect, a different kind of perfect than the one he wanted, but still a kind of perfect…. 

When he looked down, Stiles’ butterscotch eyes were looking up at him. He hadn’t felt Stiles awaken, not surprising since he’d been lost in his own mind. 

“Hey,” Stiles said sleepily. 

“Hey,” Derek responded, just as quietly. 

“Sorry… about your shirt and everything,” Stiles said. 

“No problem,” Derek replied. There were some dried crusts where Stiles had cried into the cotton and some scrunched wrinkles where he had gripped but they didn’t bother Derek. It was just a shirt. 

Stiles lifted his neck and shoulders, motioning to pull himself off of Derek. Derek squeezed his arm tighter around Stiles, pulling him back down. He wasn’t ready for them to be apart, not even more than an inch. He just needed Stiles close. He had been craving this kind of closeness every night for the past eleven days. Now that he had it, he couldn’t let it go. 

Stiles gave in and laid back down, relaxing as his head again rested on Derek’s chest. They laid for a few moments, each of them quietly breathing into each other, neither one wanting to take the first step, to open the door into a conversation that may or may not end well. 

“I missed you,” Derek said softly, finally breaking the silence. He didn’t know if the words were exactly right. It’s not like Stiles had gone anywhere. But he hadn’t been conscious and so the words were true. He had missed Stiles, had missed him so much. 

“Me too,” Stiles replied softly. “When I woke up and you weren’t here…. I missed you.” 

“…I…” Derek started. “I didn’t know how you’d react. I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to see me.” 

It was hardly an excuse, he knew that. And it wasn’t even the whole truth. Stiles’ father had been here for hours on end most of the days while Stiles had been unconscious. And that in and of itself was enough for Derek to keep his distance. Derek didn’t want to admit that maybe he had taken the easy way out, not to himself and not to Stiles, but he knew he had. Not knowing how Stiles would react to the change was better than finding out that he no longer had feelings for Derek. Well, it seemed better at the time anyway. 

“I wanted to see you,” Stiles murmured. There was no tic in the boy’s heartbeat but Derek could tell there was hesitation in his words. A half-truth? Or just an incomplete one? 

A few more quiet moments passed with each of them simply being with one another. 

“Derek,” Stiles eventually spoke, his voice timid. 

“Yea?” 

“Do you still love me?” 

It was a stupid question. It was probably the stupidest question Derek had ever heard. As if there was anything on this earth that could make him love Stiles any less, could make his feelings go away. He thought he had made it clear, thought it was implicit, that Stiles was his, now and forever. Nothing could change that. There was no one else, there was only him, only Stiles. It may be a foolish love, a hopeless love, an impromptu love, but he didn’t care. Stiles was all he wanted. And although they had never actually used the “L” word with each other before, now seemed like as good a time as any to start, if for no other reason than to convince Stiles that Derek’s feelings were just as strong now as they’d ever been. 

“I love you,” Derek replied tenderly. “More than anything or anyone.” 

It was a simple truth. If Stiles was still a werewolf, he would recognize the truth in his words. But maybe that was why Stiles needed to ask, because he _wasn’t_ a werewolf, because he didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t anymore. So Derek would tell him he loved him, as many times as it took for Stiles to believe it again. 

A long silence passed as the two lay there. Derek wanted to hear the words back, God he wanted to hear them so bad. Was that too much to ask? With all the shit that had gone wrong in his life, could he maybe just have this tiny moment of happiness where he told Stiles he loved him and Stiles said it back? 

But with each breath, Derek could smell a progressive change in Stiles’ scent. He knew he wouldn’t be getting the response he wanted. The refreshing smell of cherries was fading and being covered up by stress, and sadness, and maybe fear. 

“What is it?” Derek asked, unable to quietly ignore the boy’s emotions any longer. 

Stiles didn’t speak at first. But finally, he gave in. 

“…I don’t know…” 

_Lie._

But Derek didn’t accuse him. Instead, he waited for him to elaborate. 

“It’s just…” Stiles continued. “I’m confused. I don’t know how I feel about…. this… you…. us…. everything….” 

At first, Derek was lost for words. He knew this would be hard for Stiles, that it would be an adjustment. He knew that being given the gift of the bite and everything that comes with it and then having it all yanked away would be one the worst transitions a person could be forced to make. He knew this was a possibility, that Stiles could doubt him, could doubt their relationship and their connection. Even so, it felt like a slap to his face, another knife to his heart. 

“Oh…” Derek said sullenly. 

“Please, don’t be mad,” Stiles pleaded. “I’m just confused….” 

“It’s okay,” Derek responded. And he meant it. He was hurt but he couldn’t fault Stiles for his feelings. In fact, he was glad Stiles was being honest with him. It made his mission clearer. If Derek had to win Stiles’ heart all over again, he’d do it. He’d do it a thousand times over. And when Stiles finally uttered those three perfect, magic words that Derek wanted to hear more than anything, he’d know they’d be true, he’d know that he earned them, he’d know that he was worthy of Stiles’ love. 

A few more quiet moments passed. 

“Do you want me to go?” Derek asked hesitantly. 

“…No…” Stiles responded, gently twirling a loose thread in Derek’s shirt. 

They laid there quietly as the morning sunlight began to creep through the hospital windows. Derek didn’t mind the silence, though. He wanted to comfort Stiles, to ease any anxiety, but he didn’t want to force him to talk anymore if he didn’t want to. If all Stiles wanted to do was lay here quietly, Derek was okay with that, more than okay really. 

** 

Things were still fucked up. Stiles knew that. 

But when it was just him and Derek lying together, it was like all that other shit didn’t matter. 

He didn’t really feel happy, that wasn’t the word. Happiness is what you feel when things go your way and all the puzzle pieces fall into place. And this definitely wasn’t one of those times. But he wasn’t really mad though. Or sad. Or guilty or depressed or anxious. He was just… content. Yea, maybe that was what he was feeling. Having Derek near him felt like an emotional security blanket, protecting him from all the distressing feelings that had plagued him the day before. 

“They’re about to bring in your breakfast,” Derek said after a bit. Stiles could feel Derek’s arms around him loosen as he began to shift his weight in order to get out of the bed. Stiles squeezed his hands tighter on Derek’s shirt and arm. He wasn’t ready for this to end. Not yet. 

“I don’t care,” Stiles said. “Just stay.” 

He felt Derek relax beneath him and smiled that he got his way. 

When the nurse entered with his food tray, he avoided eye contact. She didn’t say anything as she set down the tray near his bed and quietly exited the room. He was sure he was about to become the newest gossip around the nursing station but he didn’t care. He felt worlds better today than he had since he’d first woken up as a human again and he knew it was because he had Derek. So screw the nurses, screw the gossip, screw the secrecy. He shouldn’t have to be ashamed of this and there was no reason to keep this a secret anymore anyway, not from anyone, not since his dad had found out. He had enough to deal with right now without having to deal with all the cloak and dagger bullshit too. 

“I don’t want you to leave,” Stiles said. “I feel better when you’re here.” 

“Then, I’ll stay as long as you want,” Derek said grinning. He looked happier than Stiles at the notion. “But what about your dad? He usually comes over in the mornings.” 

“He already knows,” Stiles answered. 

“You told him?” Derek asked, his face a little perplexed. 

“Actually, he kinda told me. I guess we weren’t as clandestine as we pretended to be,” Stiles laughed. 

“Was he mad?” Derek asked. “Should I expect bullet holes in my future?” 

“Haha, no,” Stiles chuckled. “He was actually… okay with it. It was weird. But also, kind of a relief, I guess.” 

“Good,” Derek replied. “That’s…. good.” 

“Yea, it is. So umm…. did you tell anyone about us while I was, you know, incapacitated? Does the pack know?” Stiles asked. 

He didn’t really care either way. Like he said, the time for secrecy was definitely over. And if Derek had already told the pack, well then that was just one less awkward conversation he’d have to have with them. 

“I didn’t,” Derek replied. “They may suspect, what with how I’ve been patrolling the grounds during the day and sneaking into your room at night, but I didn’t tell them outright. I didn’t think you’d want me to.” 

“We can tell them together, I guess,” Stiles said. “As soon as I get outta this place.” 

“Uhhh…. There might be a problem with that plan,” Derek said. 

“What? Why?” 

The door clicked open. 

“…Cuz Scott’s here….” Derek sighed. 

** 

“Uh…. hey Scott,” Stiles stammered as he pushed himself off Derek and slid as far away from him as possible, which given the size of the bed, wasn’t very far. 

“Wha-what’s going on here?” Scott asked, eyes widening. 

“Um… um… it’s not what it looks like…” Stiles stuttered. “Wait, wha-…uh, what does it look like?” 

He caught a glimpse of Derek rolling his eyes as his heartbeat was suddenly in his throat and his body felt shaky. He was gonna tell the pack, he really was, but he was going to prepare first, you know, put some words together beforehand on how best to drop the bomb. This was too spur-of-the-moment, too sudden. He didn’t know what to say. 

“It looks like you and Derek are in bed together!” Scott practically growled. 

“Okay, okay…” Stiles said. “Okay, we _are_ in bed together but… but uh, we’re not sleeping together… okay well, technically we did sleep together last night… but wait, that was just actual _sleeping_ okay, I swear… and… and.. and okay, just don’t be mad...” 

“God, Stiles!” Scott bellowed. His hands were gripping his hair and his eyes looked ready to kill. “I… feel like… fuck, Stiles, I don’t even know who you are anymore! I was coming over here to apologize for yesterday but now…. Just what the heck am I supposed to do with this?!” 

“Scott, it’s okay… let’s just sit and talk about this,” Stiles stammered. He was suddenly sweaty all over and his voice was cracking more than usual. 

“No, Stiles, I’m done talking,” Scott said before hustling out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 

Stiles sat there unmoving in the seconds following Scott’s departure. He was shell-shocked. It’s not like he could chase after his best friend. He was still held down by wires and tubes. He felt a hand on the center of his back. It moved in circles, each finger slowly caressing and calming him down. 

Stiles exhaled loudly. 

“Thanks for the backup…” he groaned. 

“You… uh… seemed to have it under control…”Derek said smiling and pulling Stiles back towards his firm body. 

“You could have given me more than a two second warning that he was coming, you know…” Stiles said, struggling against Derek’s grip but finally giving up and settling his head against Derek’s shoulder. 

“It’s for the best,” Derek said. “He needed to know. And he’ll come around.” 

“Yea, I know,” Stiles sighed. “But I don’t like fighting with him. And this one is kind of all my fault. He has a right to be angry…” 

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Derek asked, pressing his nose closer to the crook in Stiles’ shoulder and inhaling. 

“No,” Stiles said, chuckling as Derek’s stubble tickled his skin. “That’d probably just make things worse. I’ll figure this one out.” 

** 

They released Stiles from the hospital two days later. 

Seldom a moment passed when Derek wasn’t in the hospital room with him. His dad came to visit everyday, as did Ms. McCall. Erica and Boyd stopped by to check in on him too which was surprisingly nice. But Stiles was itching to get out of the hospital those last few days. Stiles had never really been one to let others take care of him and now that he was feeling better, he was sick of all the looks like he was someone to be pitied or coddled. 

Scott didn’t come back after their fight but Stiles knew his friend just needed some time to clear his head and settle down. He wasn’t worried about that. Actually, he wasn’t really worried about anything when it was finally time to put his own clothes back on and leave the hospital. His emotional roller coaster had seemed to reach its end. Yes, he was human again but he didn’t feel as broken or as helpless as he initially had. He had his dad, he had Derek, and even though they were fighting, he knew he still had Scott too. His life was okay, better than okay really. He may have lost something but he still had what really mattered. 

And after all, this wasn’t the first time he’d had something important to him yanked away, never to return. He’d had practice locking all those dark feelings in the box at the back of his mind. 

Even so, he still found it odd the way in which his emotions seemed to do a complete 180 those last couple of days in the hospital. He couldn’t really explain it. He knew part of it had to do with Derek. It was hard to be angry or depressed with Derek’s warm body snuggled up against your own, tending to your every need. But he knew that wasn’t the whole story. His mind was finding a way to adjust to the change of being human again just as his body had. Maybe it had found a little piece of the old Stiles that he’d been searching for after all. 

He equated his recovery to that of a heroin addict who’s forced to go through withdrawal. Those first 24 hours after your brain realizes the drug is gone are always the worst. But eventually it adjusts and when you come out on the other side, things get better. Maybe it was a crappy analogy but whatever. It was a new day and he was looking forward to things to come, not looking back at days gone by. 

So when he first re-entered his bedroom, he couldn’t help but smile. His own bed, his own clothes, his books and his computer, all of it was as it should be; it was home. And he was glad to be back. 

When his dad called him for dinner, he hopped down the stairs two at a time, like he always did. It wasn’t anything special, some grilled chicken breasts, potatoes, and green beans, but it was a home-cooked meal and after numerous days of hospital meals, it was a welcome change. 

The conversation with dinner was light, nothing about Derek, or lacrosse, or the future. Stiles was thankful for that. After dinner, he and his dad lounged in the living room watching reruns of _NCIS_ , another one of his dad’s favorite shows. And Stiles could admit that he had a soft spot for the show too, mostly because it was super predictable and he could figure out “who dunnit” before the cast like 99% of the time. 

When it was time for bed, he made his way upstairs. He put on his pajamas and got into bed. He wasn’t really surprised when a few minutes after he laid down and closed his eyes, he heard the squeak of the wooden window pane as it slid open. He didn’t need to look up to know it was Derek. 

He lifted up the edge of his comforter and waited until he could feel the dip of the bed as Derek slid in next to him. His whole body seemed to warm up with Derek’s skin pressed against his. 

He turned on his side to face his bedmate, opening his eyes and looking into Derek’s, the man’s soft hazel-green irises just barely distinguishable in the soft, moonlit room. 

“Hey,” Stiles said smiling. 

“Hey,” Derek replied. 

“Did you talk to Lydia?” Stiles asked. 

The night before, Stiles had finally revealed his conversation with Lydia to Derek. He didn’t really want to tell him. He knew that Lydia had something to do with Peter’s attack but he had no idea what. And he knew telling Derek would probably put Lydia on Derek’s “Death List 5” or at the very least, his “Brutally Maim List 5.” But Derek and the pack had had zero success in tracking down Peter and Stiles knew that they needed as much information about what had happened as possible. 

It was weird for Stiles. Half of him wanted to just move on with his life and forget he’d ever been a wolf in the first place and the other half wanted to track down Peter himself and beat an explanation out of him. But Stiles was no stranger to indecisiveness so he just rolled with it. 

“Erggh…” Derek growled. “Yes.” 

“And?” 

“She doesn’t know anything,” Derek answered pointblank. “Peter just used her. She doesn’t know anything about what he did to you or if it’s reversible.” 

“Well, that’s just perfect…” Stiles said sarcastically as he moved his head over to rest on Derek’s chest. He liked the feeling of lying so close to Derek, the other man’s body hot against his skin, even through the cotton of his wifebeater. 

“I was hoping she’d have some insight,” Stiles added. “I want to know what he did, if this is permanent, if I could get the bite again…” 

That much was true. It felt like the final thing necessary to give him closure. If he knew there was no going back, he’d be able to move on, to really move on with his life as a human. 

“I know….” Derek consoled, wrapping his arm around Stiles, like he always did, and holding him close. 

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Stiles continued. “Lydia said I’m like her now, that I’m immune. When she got bit by Peter last year, she almost died. Do you think that’s what would happen if you bit me again? Do you think I’d die?” 

“I don’t know…”Derek replied while tensing up at Stiles’ words. 

“And you don’t want to find out, right?” Stiles questioned. He knew Derek. Once Derek staked a claim, he fought desperately to protect it. Now that Derek had Stiles back, Stiles knew he’d never do anything to intentionally put him in harm’s way again, and that included re-administering the bite. 

Derek exhaled roughly through his nose. Stiles didn’t have to be a werewolf to recognize the tension in his face or in his voice when he spoke. 

“If you forced me….” Derek uttered. “I’d do it… for you…” 

“I almost believe you…” Stiles said while reaching his hand up to pat Derek’s cheek playfully. 

Stiles listened to Derek’s heart beating steadily beneath his ear. The sound was a comfort, he didn’t know why, but he liked hearing its gentle rhythm, even if it wasn’t as loud or as clear a sound as when he’d had werewolf hearing. 

He laid there for a few more minutes, quietly listening to Derek’s heart before speaking again. 

“Lie to me,” he said. 

“What?” Derek questioned, looking confused. 

“Lie to me,” Stiles said again, this time with vigor, as he scooted his head so his ear lined up perfectly over Derek’s heartbeat. 

“Stiles…” Derek whined, seeing where Stiles was going with this. 

“Just do it,” Stiles insisted. He knew what he was getting himself into. He knew that his ineffectual human ears wouldn’t be able to hear the tic but he didn’t care. He wanted to know for sure. He wanted to try. He just wanted to try. There couldn’t be any harm in that, right? And if he focused, really focused, maybe he’d hear it. And it’d be just like a little souvenir, a little reminder of his former self, a little token that he could keep with him. 

Stiles lifted his head for a moment to stare Derek down. Finally, Derek sighed in frustration and Stiles knew he had won. 

“Fine,” he said. 

Stiles realigned his ear directly over Derek’s sternum, just the thin layer of cotton from Derek’s wifebeater separating his ear from Derek’s thumping heart. He closed his eyes and listened, listened as hard as he could, let the rhythmic lub-dub fill his mind. 

“The sky is green,” Derek said quietly, a hint of annoyance in his voice. 

Nothing. 

Stiles couldn’t hear any tic. He knew what it should sound like, he remembered what it had sounded like when someone lied and their heart ever so slightly changed its rhythm, but maybe knowing what it _should_ sound like wasn’t enough to actually hear it. 

“Again,” Stiles ordered, his face still determined. 

“Umm… the world is flat,” Derek said, his voice still tinged with annoyance. 

Again, nothing. He needed to focus harder. He pressed his ear harder against Derek’s chest. 

“Again,” he repeated. 

Derek sighed but this time it seemed more a sigh of sadness than of annoyance. 

“Um, I’m a pretty little girl,” Derek said straight-faced. 

Stiles couldn’t help but chuckle. Derek started laughing too and Stiles found his head bouncing against Derek’s contracting chest with each laugh. 

“I can’t hear it if you make me laugh!” Stiles whined playfully. 

“Fine, fine,” Derek said, calming himself as Stiles positioned his head once again. 

“Pigs can fly.” 

Stiles listened hard, really listened, but he couldn’t detect any change in Derek’s heartbeat. He sighed heavily, feeling defeated. He thought if he knew what to listen for and tried his hardest, he’d hear it. But this was just another disappointment. 

“Stiles…” Derek pleaded. 

“I know, I know,” Stiles murmured, his tone defeated. “It’s hopeless…” 

“I hate seeing you like this,” Derek said as he rubbed his fingers through Stiles’ scruffy hair. 

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Stiles said, looking up into Derek’s eyes. “I never thought I’d miss it this much. It always felt like more of a burden than a gift. But now that I can’t have it… I guess it’s true what they say, you never really know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” 

He tried to force a smile. He didn’t want to make Derek feel worse. Despite all his comforting words and playful tussles and pretending like he had everything all together and figured out, Stiles could tell that under the surface, Derek was having an emotional turmoil to match his own. He knew that they were both putting up a front for the other one, each one recognizing the hurt the other was going through and not wanting to add any more to the other’s pain. It could almost be heartwarming, if it wasn’t so downright depressing. 

But maybe that was part of why he knew he still loved Derek, if you could call this love. Because he wanted to be happy, or at least pretend to be happy, not for himself, but for Derek. He wanted to laugh and joke and smile just so he could see Derek laugh and joke and smile. And that was an important part of loving someone, right? Putting their needs in front of your own… 

Stiles was pulled back to reality when he felt Derek grip his wrist and slide it upward to Derek’s face. 

“Should we try?” Derek asked, opening his mouth to reveal a collection of sharp, white fangs, each one only millimeters away from Stiles’ pale skin. Derek’s eyes suddenly went blood red and shimmered like rubies. 

Stiles could see in Derek’s eyes that he didn’t really want to, though. There was fear in his eyes, and reluctance. He wondered if Derek bit him now, if it could even work. Didn’t the Alpha have to bite with intent? And Stiles could tell that Derek had no intent of bringing any harm to Stiles, even if it was what Stiles wanted. 

“Not tonight,” Stiles said quietly, pulling his arm back. Stiles could see the relief in Derek’s eyes as their crimson faded and his fangs retracted to blunt human teeth. 

He didn’t know if he really wanted to try. Well, he did want to be a werewolf again, for sure, but what if it didn’t work? What if he wound up back in the hospital or really wound up dead this time? Could he do that again to Derek and his father and everyone? Could he be that selfish? 

He didn’t know for sure. Part of him thought he could. The other didn’t want to leave Derek all alone. 

And there was still that word that Lydia had used. The word that still bothered him. 

_Immune_. 

It had never come up before in his research, in the bestiary, anywhere. How could someone be immune to the bite of werewolf? 

It had always been an all-or-nothing kind of thing. The bite took or the bite didn’t. But no one had ever been immune before… right? 

What had Peter done? 

** 

When Stiles awoke the next morning, his bed felt strangely empty. He reached over his arm and upon feeling nothing warm or solid, jerked his eyes open to confirm what his hand had already discovered, Derek was gone. 

He yawned tiredly and sat up, stretching his fists to the ceiling. 

“It smells like Derek in here,” said a voice from the corner. 

“The fu-…” Stiles said startled as he turned to the direction of the voice. “Oh… Isaac, it’s you…” 

“Finally,” Isaac said as he stood from Stiles’ desk chair. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for like a half hour.” 

“Oh my apologies, I didn’t realize I had company,” Stiles said sarcastically as he wedged himself into a t-shirt that he didn’t remember taking off last night. 

Isaac shifted away from the window and moved closer to Stiles. 

“So?” he asked. 

“So what?” Stiles retorted. “You’re the one who snuck in through my window, remember? What do you want?” 

“Why does it smell like Derek in here?” Isaac asked, eyes glaring at Stiles, maybe a little too knowingly. 

“What do you want, Isaac?” Stiles questioned flatly, losing patience fast. 

“Okay, fine. Look, Stiles, I came here to talk to you. I’ve been talking to Scott and-…” 

“Let me stop you right there,” Stiles interrupted. 

Isaac’s mouth stayed agape at Stiles’ interruption and his eyes showed the teen’s annoyance but Stiles didn’t really care. 

“Look, I know you and Scott are all buddy-buddy now, Isaac,” Stiles said as he got out of bed and headed towards his bedroom door. “But I don’t need you to come over and play mediator for Scott and me. We can work out our problems all on our own. So, if that’s it, I’ll see you later.” 

As Stiles reached for the doorknob, he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Wait,” Isaac said, his voice sounding more sincere than before. “That’s not why I’m here. Will you just listen so I don’t have to rip any of your limbs off.” 

“Did I miss the memo where all werewolves are supposed to threaten bodily harm when they aren’t getting their way?” Stiles asked sarcastically, pulling his shoulder from Isaac’s grip and sitting back down on the edge of his bed. Isaac just rolled his eyes. 

“Okay, what?” Stiles asked. 

“Well, okay, how do I word this?” Isaac started, as he began to pace in front of Stiles. “Scott’s like really mad at you and he’s talking to me about how he doesn’t know who you are anymore and this and that and how he wished you would just talk to him, like really talk to him the way you guys used to or whatever.” 

Stiles looked at the ground awkwardly. He didn’t need another reminder of how he’d messed things up with Scott. He knew he needed to make it right. 

“And that just got me to thinking,” Isaac continued. “Obviously you’ve been through some serious shit recently and would probably need a friend or someone to talk to and if you’re not talking to Scott and you’re not talking to your dad, then who are you talking to? And then I thought, knowing Stiles, he’s probably just bottling up everything inside and not talking to anyone.” 

Isaac stopped pacing and stood in front of Stiles, staring him down. “So I know we’re not like super close or anything but like it or not, I still consider you pack and so I want you to know that if you need a friend to talk to or need to just vent or just need… I dunno, a hug or something… I’m here for you.” 

Stiles didn’t know what to say. This would probably be the sweetest thing ever if it wasn’t so incredibly awkward at the same time. The two boys just stared at each other for a second, Isaac trying his hardest to look caring and concerned with his hands in his pockets and Stiles trying to figure out how to respond to that. 

“Uhh….” Stiles hummed through his gaping mouth. 

Finally, the awkwardness reached epic proportions and both of them started to laugh. And Isaac’s laugh spurred on Stiles’ laughter as Stiles’ laugh spurred Isaac’s laughter and before they knew it, both were in tears with puffy red cheeks. Isaac doubled over Stiles’ desk chair and Stiles used his bedsheet to wipe the tears from his watering eyes. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Isaac gasped as he finally regained control of himself. “Maybe that was pretty lame… but I mean it. I don’t want you to feel like you’re all alone… cuz you’ve still got me and you’ve still got a pack. Okay?” 

Stiles looked up and saw Isaac in a new light. Well, actually it was an old light, a way he remembered looking at Isaac when all this mess had first begun. Back when he thought Isaac might actually make a pretty good friend. 

In this moment, he wasn’t Isaac the friend-stealer or Isaac the pack rival or Isaac the infuriating. He was just Isaac. He was just a boy who had lost a lot in his life and was maybe looking for a friend or two to reach out to. Stiles could relate to that. This kind of felt like an olive branch. 

“Thanks, Isaac,” Stiles said, trying to smile without looking creepy. “I appreciate that.” 

“So you’re not just bottling everything up inside until you explode like an emotional hurricane that destroys everything in its path, are you?” Isaac asked, half-jokingly but probably half-seriously as well. 

“No… no…” Stiles said, which was mostly true. “I’ve had somebody to talk to…” he added while looking at the ground again. 

“Derek?” Isaac said flatly, like he knew, because at this point, he probably did. 

“Scott told you?” Stiles asked defensively. It made sense. Why wouldn’t Scott tell Isaac? 

“Told me what?” Isaac asked. 

“About me… and Derek?” Stiles forced himself say the words. It still felt weird to say them out loud. 

“Umm… no,” Isaac answered. He looked like he was telling the truth. Maybe Scott hadn’t spilled the beans after all. 

He figured now seemed as good a time as any to let Isaac into the loop. He just had to get the words out. 

“Well… Derek… and I… are sorta…” Stiles forced the words out one by one. 

“Fucking?” Isaac finished the sentence. 

“Geez! No!” Stiles stammered, surprised at Isaac’s candidness. “Dating. Just dating.” 

“Oh, sorry,” Isaac said, chuckling. “I just figured with his scent all around your bed…. Okay, dating. That’s… uh… interesting, I guess. I don’t really know what else to say.” 

“That’s okay,” Stiles said, chuckling too. “It still feels weird to say it out loud. I’m dating Derek Hale. I’m actually dating Derek Hale.” 

“And Scott knows?” Isaac asked. 

“Yea,” Stiles answered. “I figured he woulda told you.” 

“Well, I guess he didn’t want to betray your trust,” Isaac countered. “You know, he’s actually a pretty good friend if you give him a chance…” 

_Seriously Isaac? I don’t need you to send any more guilt about Scott my way. Got that covered all on my own_. Stiles thought, but he kept it to himself. 

“Yea, Scott is a good friend,” Stiles agreed. “He’s a good guy… a really… good guy. He’s a… a really good-looking guy….” 

Stiles stared into Isaac’s face, eyes focused and unblinking. He was channeling Lydia, channeling the way she always looked like she knew exactly what you were thinking no matter how hard you tried to hide it. 

“What are you getting at?” Isaac asked. “You just told me you were dating Derek…”

“I know,” Stiles said, not breaking eye contact. “I’m just saying. Scott’s a pretty handsome guy… Don’tcha think?” 

Stiles didn’t need a verbal response at this point. Isaac’s face was saying it all, eyes wide, cheeks blushed, and bottom lip trembling. It confirmed all of Stiles’ suspicions. 

Isaac exhaled deeply and dropped his head into his hands. 

“Am I that obvious?” he squeaked through his fingers. 

“Nah, I’ve just got a sixth sense for these things,” Stiles replied, placing a reassuring pat on Isaac’s shoulder. 

“Dammit, Stiles. What am I gonna do?!” Isaac said in exasperation as he jumped up and began to pace again back and forth across the room. It was like all of Isaac’s pent up feelings and frustrations were boiling over at once and the flood of words couldn’t be stopped. 

“I mean, it’s Scott. It’s fricking Scott!” Isaac continued. “First off, it’s not like he’s even gay. I mean, you know him better than anyone so you can attest that Scott is pretty much 100 percent heterosexual.” 

“Well…” Stiles started but Isaac wasn’t even listening at this point and just kept rambling. 

“I mean, sure, there’s always the possibility he could be bisexual but I’m not getting that vibe from him, like at all, and we’ve spent a lot of time together so that’s out. So I should just forget about him, right? But I can’t! I can’t, Stiles! It’s like, he smiles, and I just want to jump him, you know? I can’t get him out of my fucking head. And even if there was a chance that we could be together, he’s my friend. He’s my only friend. Some days it’s like he’s the only person in the world I can actually talk to and I could never put that at risk. Cuz what if it didn’t work out? What if we’re horrible together and then I had no one. How could I live with myself?” 

“You could…” Stiles started again but Isaac wasn’t done. Stiles began to wonder if the whole coming over here to see if Stiles needed someone to vent to was actually just Isaac trying to find someone _he_ could vent to because Isaac seemed to have a lot of pent up emotions coming out right about now… 

“And that’s why I can’t tell him how I feel. That would be the worst thing I could do! Thank God he hasn’t caught on to my feelings on his own cuz God, that would be awful. It would ruin everything! I’d lose my only friend and then have to face him all the time with the pack and stuff. It would be the most awkward thing ever. And I know that, I really know that, so you’d think I’d be able to just stifle all this and forget him. But I can’t! Plus, with this whole new Allison thing he’s got going on, which is totally making me seem like a jealous ex-girlfriend around him which is crazy cuz we never even dated so why-…” 

“wait, Wait, WAIT!” Stiles said, jumping up and blocking Isaac from his pacing. “What do you mean, this whole new Allison thing?” 

“He…uh… didn’t tell you?” Isaac asked, his face contemplating, like maybe he shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. 

“Tell me WHAT?!” Stiles urged, losing patience. 

“Well, he’s been talking to Allison again. Like a lot, texting, phone calls, the works… and they’re talking about getting back together when she comes back to Beacon Hills which… uh… is next week... so yeah.” 

“And I’m supposed to be the one who’s keeping secrets…” Stiles sighed to himself as he sat back on his bed. 

“Don’t be mad at him,” Isaac said. “You guys have fought enough. Seriously.” 

“No, I know,” Stiles said, now lost in his own racing mind and finding less and less interest in Isaac. “I’m not mad. I wasn’t exactly ‘Team Allison’ after they broke up so I get why he didn’t tell me but it’s just…” 

“Just what?” 

“I’m worried,” Stiles said, looking up into Isaac’s eyes. “Allison coming back is just… trouble. Derek still has trust issues with the Argents and now that Scott is in his pack, how do you think it’s going to go down when Scott and Allison get back together? And Erica and Boyd were attacked and tortured by the Argents so you know that’s gonna be a fucking mess when those three get in a room together. And our pack is barely being held together right now as it is and I just feel like this could be the thing that tears it apart…” 

“Yikes, I didn’t think about any of that,” Isaac murmured as he sat down in the desk chair across from Stiles. “I was so hung up on my unrequited… whatever with Scott that I didn’t think about how Allison being back would affect the rest of the pack.” 

“Yea… well…” 

“What should we do?” Isaac asked, looking to Stiles for an answer. Stiles didn’t really have one. 

“Maybe you could express your undying love to him and he’ll forget about Allison, jump your bones, and everything will work out great!” Stiles said with a sarcastic enthusiasm. 

“He can _never_ know,” Isaac replied straight-faced, eyes locked with Stiles’ and giving off a total _I’m serious, don’t tell or I’ll kill you_ kind of vibe. 

“Okay, fine, I won’t tell,” Stiles confirmed. “But I think you should. It might help you move on if you guys talked about it…” 

“I… just can’t,” Isaac said sighing. 

“Then, at least try to figure out a way to get over him,” Stiles said in his best advice-giving voice. “Harboring an all-consuming love for someone you know will never want you back isn’t healthy, Isaac…” 

“Says the guy who pined for Lydia Martin for what was it, six years?” Isaac mocked. 

“Nice try, but I actually thought I had a shot with her, although in hindsight I may have been deluded. Plus, I didn’t keep my feelings for her a secret. And I wasn’t friends with her so… yea, not the same. But I will tell you one thing. In my experience, a good way to get over someone… is to fall head over heels for someone else. Since I’ve been with Derek, all those feelings I had for Lydia, _poof_ , gone.” 

“Because I have a long line of guys just itching to take me out…” Isaac groaned. “You know I’m the school pariah, right? I’ve become the creepy father-killer that everyone avoids….” 

“All I’m saying is to keep an open mind, okay?” Stiles said. 

“Okay…” Isaac said but his mood didn’t seem to improve. Remember that one time Isaac came over to console Stiles and instead Stiles made Isaac feel like shit? _Good job, Stilinski…_

“Well, if worse comes to worst, Derek’s never said he was opposed to threesomes. I wouldn’t mind asking him if you could….” Stiles began. 

“Yuck!” Isaac said as he stood. “Okay, I’m gonna leave before you make me hurl.” 

Stiles just gave him a wink. 

As Isaac was halfway through the window, he turned back. 

“Stiles?” 

“Yea?” 

“Don’t hurt him, okay?” 

“What?” 

“Derek. Don’t hurt him. He’s helped me a lot, more than you know, and I… I just don’t want to see him get hurt, okay?” 

Stiles nodded and then Isaac was gone. 


	19. Now Is Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey readers!
> 
> First off, this chapter is long so I hope you’ve got a comfy chair and maybe a refreshing beverage ready before you start reading :)
> 
> Second, there’s a shout-out to the web mini-series _Teen Wolf: Search for a Cure_ in this one. If you haven’t seen it, no worries, it doesn’t impact the plot at all. Just a heads up.
> 
> Last, enjoy!

Derek could smell Isaac’s scent in the air when he returned to Stiles’ house around lunch time. But he didn’t really think much of it. Pack was pack. Isaac could visit Stiles if he wanted.

He thought about hopping in through the boy’s window, which he’d done enough times now for it to be considered the norm, but opted instead for the front door. Once on the top step, he rang the doorbell and waited. 

He could hear bounding footsteps and the metallic clang of the door’s lock being unlocked, and then there he was. Stiles, bright-eyed and smiling, face lighting up at the sight of Derek on his doorstep. And Derek couldn’t blame the boy’s heartbeat for picking up a little bit because he could feel his own heartbeat start to race too. He hoped he never lost that feeling, the one where his breath was being taken away and his heart began to thud faster. He wanted to relive it each and every time their eyes met. 

“Lunch?” Derek asked as he held up the paper bag filled with greasy fast food for Stiles to see. 

“Sure,” Stiles replied happily, opening the door wide so Derek could enter the house. 

They sat at the dining room table and Derek unveiled two greasy burgers and two large curly fries from the bag. Stiles eyed the food hungrily as Derek placed it in front of him. Derek couldn’t help but smile. The boy may not be a wolf anymore but the way he tracked those curly fries with his eyes matched exactly the way a wolf tracks his prey on a hunt. 

“So is this why I woke up alone this morning?” Stiles teased as he shoved one or two too many fries into his mouth at the same time. 

“Partly,” Derek replied, unwrapping his burger and taking a civilized, human-sized bite. 

Stiles eyed Derek expectantly, clearly implying he should elaborate. 

“I went to see Deaton,” Derek added. There was no harm in telling Stiles the truth. The vet hadn’t told him anything of use anyway. 

“And….?” Stiles hummed. “What did he say?” 

“He’s never heard of a werewolf reverting back to a human,” Derek explained. “He thinks we should count it as a blessing and not test fate by trying to turn you back.” 

Which was actually something he and the vet agreed upon. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek added when he saw the hint of disappointment in the boy’s face. He wished he could give Stiles answers. He wished he could give him peace of mind. He wished he could give him Peter’s head on a platter. 

“It’s okay,” Stiles said, putting on his widest, fakest smile. “I’ve got curly fries and I’ve got you. Life is good.” 

Derek smiled back because the boy wasn’t lying, even if his emotions were a little all over the place. 

Life _was_ good. 

And Derek would make sure it stayed that way. 

** 

They spent the day together. 

And Stiles loved it. 

They ate lunch. They went to the lake and swam for a bit. Derek was pretty good at doing cannonballs. They came back and watched some television while snuggling on the couch. Derek was pretty good at that too. 

It gave Stiles all the warm, fuzzy, romantic feelings that he needed to keep him in a good mood. No wolf? No problem. It felt like this could be Stiles’ new normal. And what an enjoyable normal it was. 

When his dad came home from work after pulling a double, the sheriff went immediately to his bedroom and crashed, hardly muttering a “Stiles, I’m home” let alone noticing Derek entangled with his son on their couch. 

“Hang at your place?” Stiles suggested, wanting to give his dad a little peace and quiet, and before he knew it, they were in Derek’s Camaro and heading towards the forest preserve. 

Stiles could see Derek tense up as he put the car into park outside the old Hale house. 

“What is _she_ doing here?” Derek growled through gritted teeth as he opened the car door and stepped out. By the time Stiles had followed suit, Derek was already stomping in a beeline towards the front door. He did a half-jog, half-power walk thing to catch up with Derek at the porch steps. 

“Derek, what is it?” Stiles asked as he followed his boyfriend through the front door. Derek didn’t answer but he didn’t need to when Stiles saw the faces of the two teens standing in the foyer. 

Jackson took a step forward at Derek’s arrival. His face had lost the usual smirk of arrogance that Stiles considered Jackson’s default and was now a cross between genuine concern and pure anxiety as his eyes darted back and forth from the girl to his right to the Alpha before him. 

Lydia’s face was different too. It lacked the high-browed, exuberant confidence that always surrounded the girl. Though Stiles had to give it to her, she was trying. But there was a slight tremble in her lips and though she was trying to keep her eyes glaring confidently, Stiles could sense the fear behind them. 

“You have ten seconds to get her the hell out of my house,” Derek growled at Jackson. 

“No!” Lydia demanded, raising her voice to the Alpha, a move Stiles didn’t think was the smartest but Lydia had always been stronger than most people gave her credit for. “I came here to talk, to you and to Stiles, and I’m not leaving until I’ve said my peace whether you like it or not!” 

Lydia’s outburst initiated a roar from the Alpha as he stepped toward the girl with glowing red eyes and sharpened fangs. 

Jackson moved faster than Stiles could track putting himself between his girlfriend and his Alpha, erupting a growl low in his throat and flashing glowing eyes of his own. He was partially crouched, ready to attack should Derek take any step closer to Lydia, and Stiles could see this situation was getting very bad very fast. 

“Stop, STOP!” Stiles spoke up, pulling on Derek’s hand. 

Derek didn’t respond right away. Stiles knew why. Jackson was challenging him, or at least on the verge of challenging him. Derek was the Alpha. An Alpha couldn’t back down from a challenge, least of all from an unruly Beta. Stiles had to put an end to this fast. He thrust himself into the space between Derek and Jackson and grabbed each of Derek’s cheeks in his hands, pulling his face so the Alpha’s eyes were now locked with his own. 

“Derek!” Stiles said commandingly. “Derek, it’s not a challenge. They came to talk. Talk! Not fight. Just let her talk.” 

Derek stared at Stiles a moment more before letting his fangs retract and his eyes fade back to normal. There was still anger in them though. A lot of anger. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, sighing in relief. He turned back towards Jackson, who had also dropped his guard, and Lydia, who was now visibly shaking but still doing her best to hide any fear. “Lydia, what is it?” 

Lydia stepped forward from behind Jackson, which Stiles could see in Jackson’s eyes was not something he was comfortable with, and addressed Stiles while trying to ignore the beady glare of the Alpha. 

“Stiles,” Lydia said in a rough exhale. “First off, let me just say that I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. You don’t know how completely and utterly sorry I am. I shouldn’t have listened to him. I shouldn’t have let him trick me. I shouldn’t have betrayed you and the pack. You have to believe that I wasn’t trying to hurt you guys. It was the opposite. I thought I was helping. If there was anything I could do to take it all back…” 

Derek let out a small growl but Stiles quieted him with a wave of his hand. Stiles looked into Lydia’s face, really looked, and could see how completely genuine she was. She _was_ sorry. And Stiles knew that she hadn’t meant to be malicious. In her own messed up way, he knew Lydia thought that working with Peter was helping the pack, not hurting it. He could stay mad at her if he wanted. Hell, it’s what anyone else in his position would probably do. And he knew Derek would probably be mad at her for God knows how long regardless. 

But Stiles isn’t Derek. 

And Stiles hates placing blame where it doesn’t belong. Peter did this to him, not Lydia. And maybe everyone else was ready to write Lydia off as a bad guy and not really part of the pack but Stiles wasn’t because he knew she belonged. She belonged with Jackson and she belonged in the pack as much as anyone else. And he couldn’t believe he was admitting that to himself because the old Stiles would kill him for even entertaining the idea that Lydia Martin belonged with anyone else but Stiles Stilinski. But he had Derek now. What he had with Derek was so much more real than anything he could have even imagined happening between him and Lydia. Derek was his forever. 

And he wasn’t going to let Derek’s pack, his pack, splinter on his account. 

So Stiles did what he knew was right. He looked Lydia in the eyes and smiled warmly and spoke. 

“I forgive you.” 

Jackson’s eyes widened at the words, probably because he could tell Stiles wasn’t lying. 

And Stiles wasn’t lying. If he could forgive Derek for giving him the bite and could forgive Erica for attacking him in the hunter’s compound and could forgive Scott for being an idiot and could forgive himself for committing full-moon-induced manslaughter, then he could forgive Lydia for making an error in judgment. 

“Is that all?” Derek grumbled in a hateful tone. 

“Actually, no,” Lydia responded, breathing easier and actually giving off a hint of a smile. Maybe she had expected a different reaction from Stiles, one more like his outburst in the hospital, and maybe Stiles forgiving her took a huge weight off her shoulders. 

“Stiles, I have a question for you,” Lydia continued as she lined herself up in front of Stiles and looked him square in the eyes. “And I need you to tell me the truth.” 

“Okay…” Stiles said with a little hesitation. 

“Do you want it back?” Lydia asked, not breaking eye contact with Stiles. “Do you want to be a werewolf again?” 

Stiles’ breath hitched in his throat. 

“I… uh…” Stiles mumbled. 

“The truth,” Lydia repeated, her voice determined. 

_The truth?!_

How could Stiles answer that?! 

On the one hand, of course he wanted it back. He had been in a complete funk for days because he had lost his wolf. He had been angry and depressed and grief-stricken because he’d lost his wolf. He missed the senses and the strength and the pack and the bond with Derek and feeling like he was part of something greater than himself. How could he not want all that back?! 

But on the other hand, he was just getting used to the idea that he could live happily as a human. He had Derek, a man who would do anything to protect him, anything to make him happy. He had spent the day with him and _had_ been happy, had been genuinely happy, and had finally accepted that this life, the human life he was living right now, was worth something, was a life he could cherish. He didn’t _need_ his wolf anymore. 

He couldn’t live in No-Man’s-Land forever. He couldn’t keep longing for a life he used to have at the expense of ruining the life he had now. He was putting that part of his life behind him, for himself, and for Derek. Because Derek didn’t deserve any more suffering. Derek didn’t deserve any more heartache. Derek deserved a partner who knew what he had when he had it. 

So what was Lydia getting it?! Her question was pointless, irrelevant, because he _couldn’t_ have it back. So what was the point? 

“STILES! GET OUT OF YOUR HEAD!” 

Lydia was now shaking him by the shoulders, bringing Stiles back to the present. 

“Just a yes or a no,” Lydia continued. “Don’t complicate it. Don’t overthink it. Go with your gut. Do. You. Want. To. Be. A. Werewolf?” 

Stiles exhaled roughly. 

He didn’t want to answer. 

He couldn’t answer. 

But he felt a strong hand on his shoulder and knew that it was okay to answer. 

So he did. 

“Yes,” he squeaked, barely audible. 

He looked into Derek’s eyes and felt horrible for saying it. He felt like a hypocrite. Just that afternoon, he had told Derek he was happy. He had told Derek he was fine. He had told Derek that he had everything he wanted and that Derek was everything he needed. And he’d meant it. 

But he couldn’t help it if the truth was the truth. 

He _did_ want to be a werewolf again. Even if he _could_ be happy as a human, he still wanted it. And he wasn’t sure if that want would ever go away completely, no matter how happy Derek made him, no matter how deep down he suppressed those feelings in the back of his mind. 

Derek didn’t look hurt though. He didn’t look mad either. His eyes were just understanding and caring and of course Derek would be the kind of perfect that didn’t blame Stiles for being honest, for wanting something he knew he couldn’t have, for being flawed. So he smiled stupidly at Derek because God help him, Derek was too good for him. 

“Okay,” Lydia said, her voice even more confident than before. “Then I will get it back for you, Stiles. One way or another, I will get it back for you. I took your wolf away from you and I will give it back. Maybe today, maybe next month, maybe in twenty years. I don’t know. But I promise, if there is a way to reverse this, I will find it for you.” 

Stiles didn’t know what to say at first. He just stared at Lydia, open-mouthed like a trout, in shock. Those were big words, really big freaking words. 

“Lydia,” Stiles started. “I appreciate that, I really do, but I don’t expect you to devote your life to some hopeless cause that none of us even knows everything abou-…. WAIT, did you just say ‘maybe TODAY?!’” 

Lydia smiled wide like a Disney villain. 

“Caught that, did you?” she asked. 

“What? How? What?” Stiles stammered. He didn’t even know what questions to ask. 

“Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” Lydia said, clasping Stiles on the shoulder. “I have a lot to explain. Let’s sit down and talk some more… if that’s okay with you, Derek…” Lydia finished, eyeing the Alpha with even more confidence now that she had regained Stiles’ trust. Derek didn’t look convinced but nodded all the same. 

They moved into the living room, Lydia and Jackson sitting on one couch and Stiles and Derek on the other. 

“Spill,” Stiles said, his whole body tingling with excitement. 

“Okay, here goes,” Lydia began. “So, as Derek probably told you, I didn’t know what Peter did to you, and I still don’t, not really, but when I told Derek that I couldn’t even remember what I’d done to help him, I wasn’t being completely honest. For a long time, I really couldn’t remember. I _could_ remember him coming to my house and talking to me and I remember saying I’d help him but for a long time the rest was just like a blur. It was like I was in a trance. And I wish I could say that’s the first time I’ve helped Peter without really knowing what I was doing but as you know, it isn’t.” 

Stiles nodded. Lydia continued. 

“And then some of it started to come back, just bits and pieces, and I remembered needles and track marks up and down my arms and at first I thought maybe Peter had been injecting me with something and so I thought nothing of it but as more started to come back, I realized it was the complete opposite. He wasn’t injecting me with anything, he was extracting. He was drawing my blood by the pint.” 

“What? Why?” Stiles asked. 

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?” Lydia answered. “We can’t know for sure, but I’ve developed a theory. I’ll have to give you a rundown on my train of thought or else what comes next will make no sense. So let’s start with what we know. Last year, I was bit by an Alpha but didn’t get turned. Peter said it was because I was immune. Then, Peter extracts large quantities of my blood and a little later on Peter injects you with _something_ that turned you from a werewolf back to a human. So my first thought was that there’s got to be a connection there, you know?” 

“You think Peter found a way to transfer your immunity to someone else using your blood?” Derek said, leaning forward and focusing on Lydia, not with hate, well maybe still a little hate, but also with curiosity, like he wanted to know more. And truthfully, Stiles did too. 

“Well, that seemed to be the most plausible explanation. But even when I figured that out, it didn’t really do me much good because even though I wanted to understand what Peter had done, there was no way to figure it out, nothing I could research. There was too much supernatural involved. The bite, the full moons, the Alpha-Beta-Omega stuff, the healing and the strength and the senses… how the transformation from human to werewolf even works? It was just all beyond my understanding and I couldn’t exactly go look up in a book how it all works because nobody actually knows _how_ it works. There’s no scientific studies on werewolves. Well, none published anyway… So I was at a standstill and I had pretty much given up on it…” 

Lydia paused to take a few breaths and continued. 

“Then, when I saw Stiles in the hospital and realized what I’d done, I knew that I couldn’t give up. I not only had to figure out what Peter had done, I had to figure out how to reverse it. So maybe I didn’t know anything about what makes werewolves tic, but I knew that whatever Peter did to Stiles, he used my blood to do it, my _human_ blood, so I started my research there…” 

“…she didn’t sleep for days…” Jackson mumbled under his breath. Lydia just kept going though and Stiles and Derek listened intently. It was like listening to a ghost story, the way the tension seemed to build, but so much better because Stiles wasn’t going to get a scare at the end of this story but rather a chance at his old self back… hopefully. 

“So what’s in blood?” Lydia asked herself rhetorically. “Red blood cells, white blood cells, platelets, proteins… all important but he could have gotten those from anyone. Whatever Peter needed from my blood, it was something that would be unique to my blood and my blood only. My first thought was maybe he needed my DNA because obviously that would be unique to me but the more I researched DNA, the less sense that made. If you have someone’s DNA, you can analyze it, you can sequence it, but you can’t really _do_ anything with it. And if that’s all Peter was after, why go for just my blood? Why not my skin cells or hair follicles or my kidney or something? There’d be so much more DNA in those places than my blood.” 

“Can we move this along to the point?” Derek asked, starting to get annoyed. 

“Shhh,” Stiles hushed. “I think it’s interesting. Please continue.” 

“Okay, so then I moved on to another part of blood that is unique to every individual person. Antibodies.” 

“You mean like what your body uses when you get sick?” Stiles asked, his curiosity growing. 

“Yes!” Lydia answered. “Antibodies are a part of the immune system and are your body’s way of attacking anything that invades your system, anything that doesn’t belong, be it bacteria, virus-infected cells, or a transplanted organ. And everyone has their own unique set of antibodies based in part on what they’re born with and in part with what their body has been exposed to. Once your body makes antibodies to something, you become immune to it.” 

There was that word again: _immune_. Stiles had to admit that everything Lydia was saying was making sense but it was still all conjecture, all theory. They were just taking shots in the dark. And nothing she had said yet was making him feel like he could become a werewolf again… 

“Okay, so you think that you have like werewolf-fighting antibodies? And Peter gave them to me or something?” Stiles asked, starting to get a little skeptical. 

“YES!” Lydia said gleefully. “I think that whether I was born with them or whether my body made them the night Peter bit me, I have developed antibodies against whatever it is that turns someone into a werewolf. Which I’m still unsure what exactly it _is_ that turns humans into werewolves, maybe it’s a protein in the saliva of the Alpha, maybe it’s a virus that they pass along in their bodily fluids, but whatever it is, I don’t think it’s something purely supernatural because otherwise how could my human body figure out a way to fight it? Whatever it is that induces the change in the human when they’re bitten, my body has come up with a way to fight it. And I think antibodies are the answer…” 

“SO WHAT?!” Derek erupted, losing his patience. “None of this is the least bit helpful in turning Stiles back into a werewolf! Let’s put aside the fact that you just implied werewolves are the result of a virus, like we’re a disease infecting the human race because that is such a giant load of bullshit, not to mention insulting! WHAT IS YOUR PLAN TO HELP STILES BECAUSE I’M STARTING TO THINK YOU DON’T ACTUALLY HAVE ONE!?!” 

There was a shocked silence in the room after Derek’s outburst. Derek remained standing in front of the couch huffing and puffing and Lydia had her hands over her mouth in surprise and probably fear too. Jackson had his hand on her knee, consoling but also protecting. If Derek took any step toward her, Stiles knew Jackson would be there in an instant to protect her from his Alpha. 

“The virus thing wasn’t even my leading theory on how werewolves are turned, geez…” Lydia said quietly, almost under her breath. 

Derek growled at her but Stiles grabbed his hand and pulled until Derek resigned himself and sat back down. 

“Could you please just let her finish?” Stiles asked in his nicest voice possible. 

Derek exhaled furiously through his nostrils but nodded and crossed his arms. Stiles smiled. 

“So, just out of curiosity, what _is_ your leading theory on how werewolves are turned?” Stiles asked. He felt Derek tense to his left but couldn’t help his question. This was all just too interesting. 

“I think it’s a combination of transcription factors and intron activation,” Lydia said looking from Stiles, wide-eyed and attentive, over to Derek, also wide-eyed but with a _I’m going to kill you if you don’t get to the curing Stiles part real damn soon_ look on his face. 

“But maybe we should focus on helping Stiles right now,” Lydia said, gulping hard as she stared into Derek’s glaring red eyes. 

Stiles nodded. He could talk to her more about this later. And Derek wasn’t getting any calmer. 

“So back to antibodies,” Lydia continued. “Like I said, the body makes some antibodies on its own based on genetics and makes others based off of what you’ve been exposed to. When the body makes its own antibodies, it’s called active immunity and you’re immune for your entire life. I think that’s what I have. Meaning no matter how many times I’m bitten, I would never turn into a werewolf. But if pre-made antibodies are introduced into your system from say, a syringe being plunged into your chest by someone’s crazed uncle, it wouldn’t be active immunity. It would be a type of passive immunity, because the body isn’t generating its own immune response and eventually the immunity would wear off.” 

“Okay, so let me see if I get it,” Stiles said. “You think Peter took anti-werewolf antibodies from you and injected them into me.” Lydia nodded. “But since I didn’t make the antibodies myself, the immunity will eventually wear off and I could become a werewolf again?” 

“Exactly!” Lydia said, nodding again. 

“So how long does it take for the immunity to wear off?” Stiles asked excitedly. 

“That’s the problem, there’s no way to no for sure. In theory, they could circulate in your system indefinitely, or they could wear out in a few decades, or a few years, or a few months. There’s no definitive timeframe. And there’s no real good way to figure out when or if the immunity’s gone, at least not without Derek biting you every once in awhile and seeing what happens, which isn’t exactly safe or practical,” Lydia answered. 

“Oh…” Stiles said gloomily. Months he could deal with. Years? Maybe. Indefinitely? That was too long to wait. He knew it was better than nothing. Given the choice between forever as a human or a few years as a human, it was a no-brainer, but how would he know when it was time? How would he know when it was safe to get the bite? 

His faith in Lydia’s plan to turn him back into a werewolf was fading fast. 

“But I have an idea on how we could maybe speed things up,” Lydia responded happily. “Jackson, supplies.” 

Stiles watched curiously as Jackson got up and went back to the foyer, returning soon after with a duffel bag that clinked with each step he took. Handing the bag to Lydia, the girl unzipped it and began taking out an assortment of chemistry supplies and setting them up on the small wooden coffee table in the room. First came a test tube rack and a collection of test tubes placed one by one into it. Then came pipettes and beakers. 

“What, did you guys rob the chemistry lab?” Stiles asked when it was all set up. 

“Precisely,” Lydia said smiling impishly. 

Derek sat still with his arms crossed, seemingly disapproving of the scenario more and more with each passing moment but Stiles just ignored him because now this was going somewhere. They weren’t just talking. Something was going to happen. 

“So, what’s all this for?” Stiles asked, getting up from the couch and kneeling down on the floor in front of the coffee table across from Lydia. 

“An experiment,” Lydia answered. “First, I’ll need some of your blood. Put it in here.” 

Lydia held up a beaker for Stiles to take. He took it without question but then looked at it inquisitively. 

“Put blood in it how?” he asked. 

“I can help,” Jackson said, smiling evilly and holding up a hand that suddenly was adorned with five razor-sharp claws. 

Derek growled at the Beta as he stood from the couch. Jackson’s hand dropped instantly and Derek made his way to the floor beside Stiles. He took Stiles’ hand in his own and carefully traced a thin line along Stiles’ wrist with the claw of his pointer finger. Stiles tilted his wrist and held the beaker beneath it as a steady trickle of blood dripped into it. 

“Thanks,” Stiles said to Derek, smiling wide and hoping it would do something for the scowl on his boyfriend’s face. It didn’t. 

When the beaker was about a third of the way full, Lydia said that was enough and Stiles handed it to her. Derek silently grabbed Stiles’ wrist and lifted it to his mouth, tracing his tongue back and forth over the cut. 

“That tickles,” Stiles said laughing. He didn’t need Derek to tell him that werewolf saliva would help the wound heal faster, not to mention act as a disinfectant. When Derek released his wrist, the cut had already stopped bleeding. 

“Here,” Lydia said, holding up a second beaker to Derek. “We’ll need some of your saliva. And not the regular kind. The werewolf transformation kind.” 

Derek glared at the girl for a moment but then reluctantly reached for the beaker. His eyes faded to red and his fangs emerged. He opened his mouth and let a steady dribble of saliva drip from his pointy teeth into the beaker. Again, when the beaker was about a third of the way full, Lydia motioned for it and Derek handed it over. 

The whole room was silent as Lydia worked. She pipetted the blood into the test tubes and then the saliva, the whole time remaining focused. It was one of the things Stiles used to love about Lydia, how focused she got when she was working on a math problem or on a chemistry lab or on a history test. She’d always get these little concentration wrinkles at the bridge of her nose and across her forehead and sure enough, she had them again now. 

When all the tubes were filled, Lydia spoke. 

“Okay, fellas, here’s the deal. Each of these tubes has 10 drops of Stiles’ _human_ blood. I’ve added increasing amounts of Derek’s saliva to each tube, starting with 1 drop in this first one going up to ten drops in this last one. Now, if my theory is right, then right now, in each of these test tubes, the antibodies in Stiles’ blood are attacking the werewolf proteins in Derek’s saliva. If there are more antibodies than werewolf proteins, then the blood will remain human. Now, if there are more werewolf proteins than antibodies, then the antibodies will get used up and leave the proteins free to induce the change on the cells in that blood sample. And as Jackson has been kind enough to inform me, a werewolf’s palate can taste the difference between human blood and werewolf blood so after a few minutes, we’ll let our werewolf friends here taste each sample and determine 1) is it possible to override Stiles’ antibodies and turn him back into a werewolf and 2) how much werewolf saliva in proportion to blood we’ll need to do the job.” 

The minutes passed in anxious silence. Stiles was excited. He actually thought this was kind of fun and was surprised because before, he never thought anything even remotely involving chemistry could be fun. But this could possibly give him a way to be a wolf again. And he couldn’t help but hope. 

But the more excited Stiles got, the more upset Derek seemed to get. Stiles could understand him being skeptical. They weren’t exactly dealing in hard facts here. Stiles knew that. This was a guess, a logical and estimated guess maybe, but still a guess. But Derek seemed more than just skeptical, he seemed furious. And Stiles didn’t get that. Didn’t Derek want Stiles to be a wolf again too? 

“Okay, it’s been five minutes. With samples this small, I think that’ll be enough time,” Lydia said, looking up from her wristwatch. 

No one did anything at first, but then Jackson began to reach for the first test tube. Derek gave a little growl and the Beta retracted his hand. Derek grabbed the first test tube and threw back the liquid into his mouth in one swig. Stiles thought he would just take a taste and then spit it out but was not-so-pleasantly surprised when Derek swallowed the blood-spit mixture. 

“Human,” Derek said flatly, putting the tube back in the rack, his loathing voice implying his lack of surprise that the blood hadn’t changed. 

The second tube was next. 

“Human,” Derek said again scathingly. 

Then, the third. 

“Human,” Derek said for the third time, with even more contempt, as if that was possible. 

Then, the fourth tube went down the hatch. 

Derek didn’t answer right away but instead began to click his tongue, tasting and savoring the liquid in his mouth as his eyes widened. 

“It’s….” Derek began. “It’s wolf,” he said quietly, face disbelieving. 

Derek grabbed the fifth tube and threw it back for good measure. 

“Oh my God,” he said after swallowing. “Wolf, definitely werewolf. I can’t believe it…” 

“It worked?” Stiles asked, his excitement building. “It actually worked?! I could be a werewolf again?!” 

Stiles looked into Derek’s eyes. He couldn’t help but smile. It was the best possible news. He could be a werewolf again! It didn’t seem possible. It didn’t seem real. But Derek was looking back at him, still wide-eyed but smiling too. And in that face, Stiles knew that Derek was happy, no ecstatic, at the thought of Stiles being a wolf again. It was almost too perfect. 

“Guys…” Lydia said. Stiles noticed that she was distinctively _not_ smiling. “I don’t think we should get ahead of ourselves. Yes, this is good news but this was just an experiment in a test tube. There’s no way to really know how Stiles’ body will react to the bite, and not just the bite, but enough werewolf saliva to match the 4:10 ratio needed to induce the change… We can do it if you want to but there’s a lot to consider. It’s risky. It’s quite possible that what happened to me on the football field when Peter bit me could happen to Stiles. There’s no guarantee it’ll work and no guarantee he’ll come out on the other end alive. Are you willing to chance the risk?” 

Stiles wasn’t sure whose face dropped first, his or Derek’s… 

** 

“We’ll be right back,” Derek said flatly, grabbing Stiles by the hand and pulling him up from the floor. He led the boy upstairs and into his bedroom, closing the door behind them so they could have a little privacy. Lydia wouldn’t be able to hear them and if Jackson knew what was good for him, he’d direct his hearing anywhere else besides this room. 

Stiles sat on the edge of Derek’s bed, looking up at him with his arms crossed. 

Derek didn’t speak right away as he stood in front of Stiles. He was hoping that maybe he wouldn’t have to say anything at all, that maybe Stiles had come to the logical conclusion all on his own and they wouldn’t need to fight because they’d already be on the same page. 

But then Stiles spoke. 

“Go on, say it,” Stiles instigated, his eyes defiant and his body tense. Derek could make out the change in the boy’s scent too, filled with determination and irritation, all of it directed at Derek. Stiles was putting up his defenses. Because they both knew that they were about to have a major disagreement. 

“We’re not doing it,” Derek said, making his voice commanding and unwavering. He was the Alpha, Stiles was in his pack, it was his decision. 

_Because that attitude has worked out so well in the past_ thought the part of his brain that loved to taunt and doubt and question every move the Alpha made. 

“It’s my life. It’s my decision. I want to do it,” Stiles said, his voice just as sure as Derek’s. 

“It’s _our_ decision,” Derek forced himself to say. He needed to make Stiles see reason and playing the _I’m the Alpha, you do what I say_ card was definitely not the way to go. “And we should make it together. It’s not just your life anymore, Stiles, it’s mine too.” 

“I know it’s risky, Derek, but…” Stiles groaned. 

“Stiles!” Derek pleaded. “I know what you’re thinking. I know you want it back. God, I want it back too, so bad. And for a second there, downstairs, I actually bought into Lydia’s story and thought maybe we actually could get it back. But Stiles, let’s not kid ourselves here. Lydia doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I’m not going to put your life on the line just to test a teenage girl’s science fair theory on werewolves. Not when I can have a lifetime with you safe and sound by my side. Stiles, don’t buy into this! She doesn’t know what THE HELL SHE’S TALKING ABOUT!” 

“I know,” Stiles replied flatly. 

Derek stopped for a second, perplexed. 

“You know?” Derek groaned. “If you know, then why are we having this argument?” 

“Derek, I don’t think Lydia solved the mystery of werewolves with a couple of science books and a 48-hour research bender, okay. I know Lydia’s theory makes sense because she _needs_ it to make sense. Because for probably the first time in her life, she’s done something really wrong, she’s royally fucked up, and people hate her and she can’t deal with that. So she’s formulated this theory and this mission to cure me so she can get redemption and actually live with herself again. And yeah, it’d be easy to buy into her theories and take them at face value because it’s all what we _want to hear_. I get it.” 

“Well, you seemed like you were buying into it well enough…” Derek sighed as he sat on the bed next to Stiles. If neither of them was duped by Lydia’s hogwash “scientific” theories, why were they fighting? 

“Derek, I met a doctor once who spent his entire life studying werewolf mythology and even he couldn’t devise a scientific explanation that could justify the existence of werewolves, their superhuman abilities, or how they’re turned. I don’t really think a high school junior, even one as smart as Lydia, figured out in a couple days what he couldn’t figure out in a couple decades. I’ll admit Lydia’s theory is nice and it makes sense. But I realize she could be dead wrong on all accounts. Hell, maybe she’s spot-on, 100% accurate. I don’t know. And we could never know for sure because we don’t know how to refute her. We don’t know what questions to ask. There’s no way to prove her right or wrong. We just don’t _know_ enough about the situation to figure it all out.” 

“So we’re not gonna-…” Derek started. 

“What we _do_ know…” Stiles continued. “Is that you tasted werewolf blood, Derek. You did. You know you did. So I don’t care about the _why_. I don’t care if it’s antibodies or viruses or magic potions or a witch’s spell or science or supernatural. All I care about is the hope that maybe with enough of your crazy werewolf saliva pumped into my system, I could be a werewolf again.” 

“But you could die…” Derek muttered. “You said yourself we don’t know what’s going on here. We don’t know what will happen to you. I can’t risk losing you. Not again, Stiles. Please, not again…” 

Why couldn’t Stiles just get that? Why was Stiles so willing to put his life on the line? Time after every fucking time… 

“If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, hadn’t seen the possibility, I could probably go on living as human, Derek. I’d be happy with you, loving you, growing old with you. And one day, I think I’d forget that I was ever a werewolf because life would be too perfect for it to matter anymore. But now that I know… Now that I know there’s a chance, Derek. I can’t sit idly by and forget. Not when I can take action, when we can take action, when we could change this situation ourselves.” 

Stiles gripped Derek’s hand. 

“I know you hate to risk it but it’s so worth the risk, Derek,” Stiles recited, his voice unwavering. “To get back what we had. To have the future we want…” 

_We?_

He knew he couldn’t change Stiles’ mind. He knew how this was going to end. Because at the end of the day, no matter what Derek did or said, Stiles was always going to get his way on this. Because it _was_ Stiles’ life. It _was_ Stiles’ decision. And dammit if Derek didn’t know that were the roles reversed, he’d make the same goddamn choice. 

He could always refuse. No magic Alpha spit, no turning Stiles back to a werewolf. But that was a recipe for the destruction of their relationship altogether and Derek knew that wasn’t really a viable option. There was no backing out of this now. 

“Please don’t…” was all Derek could muster, as he eyed Stiles, distraught and trembling, and hopeful. 

“Don’t you want me to be wolf again?” Stiles asked, his voice trembling almost as much as Derek’s. 

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Derek said, putting his head in his hands. “All that matters is that you’re alive and safe.” 

Stiles pulled Derek’s wrist away from his face so Derek would look his way. Stiles got that look in his eyes, the one Derek remembered from his dream, the one where his eyes get full and focused. And even though they weren’t violet, Derek knew he was still screwed because there was no saying no to those eyes. 

“It matters to me that you’re happy,” Stiles declared. “And it matters to me that you get the future you want, the life you deserve. It matters to me that you get a mate, a real mate. Do you think I don’t know what me being human means for you, Derek? Do you think I don’t know what it means for our pack?” 

And Derek’s mouth dropped at that because he actually _did_ think that Stiles was still in the dark about what it meant to be the Alpha’s mate, that Stiles was still oblivious to what him being human was costing Derek… 

“And if you die?” Derek countered. “What happens to my future then, Stiles?” 

Stiles leaned in close, his mouth millimeters from Derek’s, his breath hot on Derek’s skin. 

“Our story has a happy ending,” Stiles whispered before leaning in the rest of the way and putting his wet lips against Derek’s and kissing him soft and slow. Stiles inhaled deeply and Derek followed suit, breathing in Stiles’ scent and hating himself because he was going to go along with another one of Stiles’ foolhardy plans. 

In that moment, though, Derek realized why Stiles was putting his life on the line, why Stiles was so determined to try and get his wolf back. It wasn’t for himself, so he could play lacrosse or have super speed or so he’d feel equal to his best friend. It was for Derek, all for Derek, because Stiles would rather die than let Derek have any life less amazing than the one Stiles thought he deserved. Stiles would rather die than be anything less than everything Derek needed. 

And with that comfort, a tiny glimmer of hope began to form in the back of Derek’s mind. Because for the first time, Derek thought that the scales had finally balanced between them and Stiles loved Derek every bit as much as Derek loved Stiles. From the very beginning, from the moment Derek gave Stiles the bite, he knew that he was invested in this relationship more than Stiles was, was committed more than Stiles was, was _in love_ more than Stiles was. But now it was a level playing field. It was equal. 

And without a word being said, he knew Stiles loved him, really loved him. And he couldn’t help but smile because of that. 

So he grasped onto that hope with everything he had, focused on the light at the end of the tunnel, and grabbing Stiles’ hand in his own, went to go get his happy ending. 

** 

“I’m ready,” Stiles said confidently when he and Derek re-emerged into the living room. 

“You want to do this now?” Jackson asked, disbelieving. 

“No better time than the present,” Stiles responded, smirking. “So, how’s this gonna work?” 

Lydia looked almost as surprised as Jackson. 

“Well, I did bring the supplies with me just in case, but Stiles, are you sure you want to do this now? You have time to think it over, you know? We don’t have to-…” 

“I’m ready,” Stiles interrupted. “Get the supplies.” 

“Derek?” Lydia asked, eyes looking up to the Alpha, like maybe he would be there to stop Stiles from being too hasty. 

“You heard him,” Derek said, his face emotionless. 

Stiles knew they were all afraid. He knew what he was asking of Derek and Lydia and Jackson, not an easy favor to commit to. And truth be told, he was a little nervous too. But something deep down told him this was all going to work out. And he was hardly ever this confident about any of the other decisions in his life so if he was this sure, this absolutely positive in his decision, he had to just go with it because that was nothing else if not a gift from God. 

“Okay then…” Lydia said. “Well, then Derek you might want to fill these up.” 

She grabbed three extra large beakers from her duffel bag and placed them on the table. 

“We’re gonna need a lot of that saliva of yours…” she added. 

“Actually, I think we’ll go with my blood,” Derek answered. Three teenage faces stared at the Alpha in surprise. “It’s actually a lot more potent at inducing the change than saliva,” Derek explained. “But it’s certainly a lot easier to bite someone than to inject them with your blood which is why it’s rarely used for turning…” 

That was news to Stiles. He had done a lot of werewolf research over the last year and hadn’t heard any mention of using blood to induce the transformation. But he knew Derek wouldn’t lie about this. And Jackson would be able to tell if Derek was lying anyway so it must be true. 

Plus, for whatever reason, being injected with large quantities of Derek’s blood just seemed a tad less disgusting than being injected with large quantities of Derek’s spit so… yea, okay by him… 

“Alright…” Lydia muttered. “Blood then…” 

Derek approached the table and unleashing his claws on his right hand, sliced three long cuts into the flesh of his left forearm. He held his arm over the first beaker, the steady waterfall of blood filling it quickly. When the first beaker was full, Derek moved his arm over to the second, a little of the blood spilling onto the tabletop as he moved. The trickle of blood began to slow as Derek’s wounds began to heal so he sliced through the lines again, reestablishing a substantial flow and quickly filling up the second beaker. Then, he moved his arm over the third, all eyes watching silently until it was just as full as the others. 

“You should sit down,” Stiles said, his voice concerned. “That’s a lot of blood to lose, even for you.” 

Derek glared at Stiles and Stiles wondered if the glare was because he was implying that Derek might actually not be invulnerable or because Stiles was making him do this at all. 

But then Derek took a seat on the sofa and Stiles knew there was no turning back now. He was ready. 

It was surprising how time seemed to speed up as everything was prepared. 

Two large bags of saline came out of the bag. The clear fluid was dumped into the kitchen sink and the bags were re-filled with Derek’s blood. Clear plastic tubes were hooked to them. And there were IV needles. It reminded Stiles of his days in the hospital. And it appeared that the chemistry lab wasn’t the only stop on Lydia and Jackson’s little burglary spree. 

A wooden chair was brought from the kitchen and Stiles sat down. Rope emerged, he didn’t know if it was acquired from the Hale house or Lydia’s bag, but Stiles quickly found each of his four limbs being tied tightly to the wooden chair, leaving him not an ounce of wiggle room. 

Lydia said it was necessary. There could be no going halfway. Stiles couldn’t be free to rip out the needles once they’d started. They’d have to give Stiles all of the werewolf blood. They had to ensure he had the greatest odds of becoming a werewolf again. No matter how much it hurt. No matter how much he screamed. No matter how much he struggled. 

Because Lydia seemed sure this was going to be painful. 

And Stiles kind of figured it would be too. 

But you know what they say: _No pain, no gain_. 

And Stiles had a lot to gain. 

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Lydia asked. “You can still back out…” 

“Do it,” Stiles said with more confidence than he was actually feeling but there was no going back now. 

Lydia pressed the needle to his skin, lining it over the vein at his elbow on his left arm. Jackson lined up another needle over the vein on his right elbow. A small prick and Jackson was in the vein, then taping the needle in place. Lydia took two tries and Stiles only winced a little when she finally got the needle into the vein and then taped her needle down as well. 

Lydia gave Stiles a questioning look. He knew why. Once they turned the one-way valves on the tubing, the werewolf blood would start to flow and there would be no going back, like really no going back, once that blood hit his veins. 

He was either going to be a werewolf again or die trying. 

Stiles didn’t look at Derek. He consciously did not look at Derek. He could see the Alpha pacing on the other side of the room using his peripheral vision but he knew if he looked into Derek’s eyes, what he saw there could make him change his mind, could make him want to not risk it. 

So Stiles looked at Lydia instead. 

And nodded. 

And of course, Lydia had to be right. 

It burned. It really fucking burned. It felt like lava was coursing through his arms. The heat spread up to his shoulders and then to his chest and he could tell when the werewolf blood had reached his heart because there was a sudden shock of white hot fire in his brain when his heart began to pump the poison throughout his body. Lava coursed down his abdomen and set his stomach on fire and with each frantic beat of his heart, the burning was spreading everywhere and getting hotter and getting harder to handle. “Fuck!” Stiles grimaced, shaking his head back and forth but finding it did nothing for the pounding heat in his brain. He could make out Lydia lifting the bag higher and then Jackson following suit. And in that moment, Stiles had nothing but contempt and undying hatred for gravity because the unforgiving bastard was doing its job, and as the bags were raised, the flow of werewolf blood increased through the plastic tubing, sending greater waves than before of hot lava up Stiles’ arms. 

“Holy hell!” Stiles yelled. 

He clamped his eyes shut. He thrashed his body but his arms and legs wouldn’t move no matter how hard he tried. He was trapped and he was on fire. He was at the center of a volcano. He was on the surface of the sun. He was burning from the inside out deep within the fiery pits of hell. He just burned so fucking bad. 

He didn’t know which pain was worse, this one or the one when he’d gone from werewolf to human, spitting up black goo while thrashing on the ground in front of the Hale house. But he knew they both sucked. And that people should not even be allowed to experience this much pain at one time. It shouldn’t be possible. 

“Stiles! STILES!!” a voice yelled. 

He could hear Derek’s voice, could feel the Alpha’s hands on his cheeks, and he wished he could hide his pain. He wished he could take this burning in stride like it was nothing. But he was pretty sure he was melting like the Wicked Witch of the West because that’s just how much he was on fire right now. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was in this very moment melting into a puddle of hot liquid on the floor because everything was burning, boiling, scorching. “aaaaahh…. it…. errrgm… it…. burns…. fucking… aahhhh.. burns…” Stiles gasped through his moans. 

He was hurting, he was grinding and groaning and whining, but he wasn’t screaming. No, he wouldn’t let himself scream. 

Maybe it’d help with the pain but he wouldn’t do it. 

Because he never wanted Derek to have to picture Stiles screaming in pure, unfathomable agony. Whether he lived or died, he wouldn’t do that to Derek. He wouldn’t give Derek that memory. Even if this pain _was_ pure, unfathomable agony. 

He wouldn’t scream. 

“fuck… .ahhh… how much urrggghhmm … left…” Stiles grinded the words through his teeth. He didn’t even know if the others would understand him. The fire in his brain was too hot for him to even tell if he could understand the words himself. 

“About halfway,” he could hear Derek say. 

Fuck. 

Halfway? 

He didn’t know if he could make it. 

Surely, he’d be reaching a vaporous state soon and would dissipate into the air as steam because he was reaching temperatures never before achieved within this atmosphere. 

“You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. You’re doing great. Hang in there.” Derek’s words of encouragement filled Stiles’ ears. He desperately clung to them because focusing on anything else, anywhere else, was just fire and pain. 

He could feel Derek’s hands, one stroking repetitively over his scalp, the other stroking the back of his neck. And Derek’s face was pressed into his chest. The touch did nothing for the burning but it did everything for his spirit. He wouldn’t die. He wouldn’t die. 

He couldn’t die. 

** 

Derek clutched Stiles tightly. The position was awkward because Stiles was tied to the chair and Derek had to embrace him without disturbing the plastic tubes delivering his own blood to Stiles’ veins. But Derek’s discomfort as he crouched in front of the chair was surely nothing compared to the pain Stiles was going through. 

The room reeked of his mate’s torment. 

Derek kept his face pressed against Stiles’ chest, muttering encouragements, which were as much for himself as they were for Stiles. And he listened to the enraged, pounding heart thudding violently in Stiles’ chest because as long as it was beating, Stiles was alive. 

He paid attention to nothing else. 

So when he heard the noise the first time, he didn’t pay attention to it because it wasn’t the sound that mattered. The sound that mattered was the beating heart in Stiles’ chest. 

But when he heard it the second time, his brain actually registered the sound. 

It was low-pitched and quieter than he was used to, but it was there. 

A howl. 

So Derek lifted his head from Stiles’ chest and looked into the struggling teen’s face. 

His eyes were flickering, glowing bright gold for only milliseconds at a time, and then returning back to their normal butterscotch brown. They were flashing repetitively like a strobe light. Gold, brown, gold, brown. 

And then the boy howled again, louder this time. 

And Derek could see the boy’s teeth were trying to lengthen to fangs and the boy’s nails were slowly phasing into claws. It was the slowest, most painful looking transformation he’d ever witnessed, but it was happening. Slowly but surely. 

But the speed of it all didn’t matter because it was working, it was fucking working. 

The boy was changing back. 

He was changing back! 

Stiles howled again, his loudest yet. And his eyes held their golden glow for over second before fading this time. 

So Derek howled back, and flashed his red eyes, encouraging Stiles to push, to fight, to complete the transition. 

He could see the determination in Stiles’ face as the boy howled again. 

And Derek howled back. 

And the boy’s fangs were solid and his claws had now reached full length. 

Stiles threw his head back and howled for real this time, the echo piercing the air, and Derek lifted his head too and howled with him, his wolf calling out to Stiles’ wolf in the most vocal way it knew how. 

And when Stiles’ head dropped back down, his eyes were pure gold, no flickering, no wavering. 

And the wooden chair didn’t stand a chance as Stiles moved his arms and legs, causing crumbled pieces of kindling and rope to fall to the floor all around him. He ripped the lines from his arms, even though the blood bags were still a little less than a quarter full, and the lines leaked blood onto the floor but Stiles didn’t notice and Derek didn’t care. 

Stiles closed the gap between them in an instant and Derek didn’t care that Stiles was in his Beta form. Derek grabbed each of Stiles’ cheeks anyway and pulled the boy’s face into his own, and kissed him, hot and sloppy and needy. He didn’t care that Stiles’ razor-sharp teeth were pressed roughly against his lips and tongue, threatening to draw blood. He didn’t care that Stiles’ claws were ripping gashes in Derek’s shirt and probably the flesh beneath, where Stiles clutched him at his back and side. He didn’t care that he could feel Jackson’s and Lydia’s eyes staring at them. 

He just cared that Stiles was back. 

His mate was back. 

Then, all too soon, Stiles broke away from Derek’s grasp so he could look into Derek’s eyes and say what Derek had been desperate to hear for far too long. 

“I love you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that one time I kind of made Stiles have three near-death experiences in the same fic? #oops #sorryimnotsorry 
> 
> Hope you guys are happy with the results of this one! It was a struggle to write and a struggle to perfect, but I’m happy with it. Are you? Comment below! I want to hear from all of you!!


	20. Mates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The last one! And of course, it's the longest chapter yet.
> 
> Explicit warning: sterek sexytimes ahead. 
> 
> ENJOY!!!

Stiles wasn’t sure how long they stayed in each other’s arms. But it was probably a long time.

Everywhere they touched didn’t seem like enough. His wolf just wanted to be near Derek, to hold Derek, and to be held by Derek. 

If it weren’t for how violently his wolf was reeling in his mind, sending bolts of lightning up and down his spine every time his bare skin made contact with Derek’s, he might not actually believe that this was real, that he was actually a werewolf again. 

When he finally felt confident enough to step back without his inner wolf going crazy, Stiles did so. They were alone now. Derek must have ushered Jackson and Lydia out of the room at some point but Stiles couldn’t remember when, not that he cared. He knew he owed them thanks but he could always thank them later. 

When he looked into Derek’s eyes, they were wet. There were faint watery trails on his cheeks from where tears had fallen. 

Stiles had never seen Derek cry before. He had seen him choked up, had seen glimpses of him getting emotional, but never crying. He actually didn’t think the Alpha ever cried, not that he didn’t have reason to. He had more reasons than most. But still, Derek didn’t cry. 

“Derek, are you…?” Stiles began to ask. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, suddenly smiling and chuckling as he wiped his eyes on the back of his wrist. “I just… you almost… and now you’re… and I felt…” 

“I know,” Stiles reassured, pressing himself back into Derek and resting his head on Derek’s shoulder while he embraced him. 

** 

It wasn’t like it was the first time. 

The sights and smells and sounds didn’t take him by surprise. 

The feeling like something _else_ was in his head, like something else was howling, or whining, or purring, wasn’t something he had to fight with anymore. 

The pins and needles that coursed up and down his skin when Derek looked him deep in the eyes didn’t distress him. 

He wanted this now. 

And he was happy. 

His wolf was something he could trust now. And although he knew he still had a long way to go in the control department, he knew it would be something he could handle, something he and Derek would handle together. 

It was late when he finally left Derek’s place. Although the night had been exhausting enough, after Derek dropped him off back at his house, Stiles could still feel one worrying regret that nagged at his mind. It was the only regret he had left. 

So as the Camaro drove off, he didn’t enter his front door. Instead, he took off down the sidewalk, walking past the sleepy homes of his neighbors until he was standing in front of a familiar house. 

He hid in the trees that surrounded the side of his best friend’s house and eyed the open window of Scott’s bedroom. 

“Scott,” he said out loud in a voice just quieter than his normal speaking voice. He knew that if his friend was awake, he’d hear him. “Are you up? Can we talk?” 

Stiles waited for a minute and thought he heard stirring coming from Scott’s room. He definitely heard a heartbeat, but no verbal response. 

Scott wasn’t known for giving the silent treatment but Stiles guessed his friend was still pretty pissed so apparently the silent treatment was on the menu. But Stiles wasn’t giving up just yet. He let a low growl emit from deep in his throat. It wasn’t too loud but he figured it would get the job done. 

Sure enough, a second later, he saw the figure of a teen hopping out of Scott’s window and rushing across the lawn towards where Stiles was camped out. 

“Stiles,” Scott said, sounding worried. “Get inside! Quick! I thought I heard a-…” 

“You did,” Stiles said, grinning. He let his eyes flash gold. He was surprised at how easy it felt to do that, to control his shift to just his eyes, and to return them to normal just as easily. 

“You’re…” Scott stammered, his eyes unbelieving. 

“Yep,” Stiles confirmed, still beaming. 

Scott lurched forward and embraced Stiles in a bone-crushing hug. Luckily, Stiles had sturdy bones again so they weren’t _actually_ crushed. Stiles hugged him back just as fervently. He didn’t realize how much he needed this, how much he needed to have his best friend back. 

“I’m sorry, Scott” Stiles apologized before they had even separated. “I said stupid things. I lied. I was a shitty friend.” 

Scott finally let go. 

“No, I’m sorry, dude,” Scott said. “You went through hell this summer. I should have been there for you more.” 

Stiles pulled Scott in for another hug. He knew that he and Scott would always be friends, through thick or thin, but that could be both a blessing and a curse. A friendship like that is easy to take for granted, and they both had done just that. But a friendship like that is also easy to pick up right back where you left off when the fighting’s done. 

They made their way to the old, wooden swingset in Scott’s backyard. It had seen better days but the swings still worked. Stiles had a lot of memories on that old swingset. That’s what happens when you’ve been best friends with someone since third grade. They each squeezed into one of the old swings and they began to talk as they swayed back and forth. They hadn’t done this in a long while, staying up late and just talking like best friends do. 

Stiles went first and told Scott all about him and Derek, like his best friend deserved. He told him how it all started, about his wolf and his trigger, about their dates, about his conflicted feelings. He told Scott the whole story from beginning to end. 

“And now you’re sure you love him?” Scott asked after awhile. 

“I’m sure,” Stiles confirmed. 

“Well, it does seem like he’s changed a lot this summer,” Scott said. “He’s been a lot less of a butthole. Maybe he’s actually good enough for you now…” 

“What a heart-warming endorsement,” Stiles joked sarcastically. 

“When I first started dating Allison, you said she was way too pretty for me,” Scott teased back. 

“She was,” Stiles laughed. 

“Jerk.” 

“Bitch.” 

They each laughed after that. Stiles had missed laughing like this. 

“We’ve been talking again,” Scott said tentatively after the silence settled back in. “…Allison and me…” 

“A little birdie told me,” Stiles said. 

This time, Scott turned to Stiles and told him all about his feelings for Allison, about how he’d tried to forget her, to move on, but he couldn’t. He told him about how receiving Allison’s texts were what he looked forward to most every single day and how he wanted to just break down and tell her how much he loved her, how much he wanted to get back together, but also how he was so afraid of scaring her off again. And he told Stiles about him and Isaac, about how close they had gotten, and how Isaac was there for him in every way that Allison wasn’t. Scott knew that Isaac was feeling _something_ for him, something more than just friendship, (Stiles figured not even Scott could remain oblivious forever), but Scott couldn’t make himself feel that way for Isaac and the only thing worse than losing Allison would be losing Allison _and_ Isaac, especially since recently he had spent the majority of the time feeling like he had already lost Stiles. 

“You’ve gotta go for it, Scott,” Stiles finally suggested when Scott was done. 

“You think so?” Scott asked. 

“If Allison is the one you want, you have to go for it,” Stiles urged. Stiles knew he hadn’t been Allison’s number one fan in the past. Hell, her grandfather had locked him in a basement and tortured him. That had given him some bad feelings towards the whole family. But he also knew that people could change. He and Derek were living proof of that. And he knew that at her core, Allison was a good person, and she could be good for Scott. Plus, Stiles couldn’t help but hear a little bit of himself in Scott’s words, in wanting a relationship so bad but being afraid of it at the same time, of having feelings that aren’t the _right_ feelings but you have them anyway and they only get stronger with each passing day. 

“And if you guys get back together, I’ll help you explain it to the pack,” Stiles added, because he knew when Allison and Scott _did_ get back together, (he could already see it going down that way), it would be a big adjustment for the whole pack. 

“Thanks,” Scott said. “And what about Isaac?” 

“When he’s ready to talk, he’ll talk to you,” Stiles assured. “And it’ll be awkward, for sure… but we’re a pack now. All of us. We’re a family. You won’t lose him. I’m sure of it.” 

“I hope you’re right,” Scott sighed. 

They continued to swing, talking for hours more, about things serious and things silly. And when the sun came up and Stiles finally went home to get some much needed rest, he felt better than he had in a long time. 

** 

“Stiles, are you sure about this?” Derek asked, arms crossed where he stood in the Hale house’s living room. 

“Did you explain it to each of them? What it will mean and how it will affect the pack?” Stiles countered, crossing his own arms and mimicking Derek’s “growly face.” 

“Yes, all of them,” Derek replied. 

“Then yea, I’m sure,” Stiles said. 

“I just don’t see how our love life is any of _their_ business,” Derek moaned. 

“It’s not our love life that’s in question here, Derek,” Stiles answered. “We aren’t gonna breakup if the pack says ‘no’ tonight. But me becoming your mate affects them too so I’m not gonna do it unless I know they’re all okay with it.” 

“It’s _my_ decision who my mate is,” Derek growled. Stiles could see a faint hint of red creeping through his irises. 

“And a very wise decision you’ve made,” Stiles retorted before leaning in for a quick kiss. He could feel Derek’s tension evaporate as their lips touched. “But I couldn’t ask them all to submit to me blindly as their leader, vice president of the pack or whatever, unless I knew I had their blessing first. I’ve always been a fan of democracy… and this feels right. I think it’s the right thing to do.” 

“This feels wrong,” Derek grumbled. “There’s an Alpha for a reason, you know, to make the decisions for the pack…” 

“Oh, stop whining,” Stiles said as he leaned in for one more quick kiss. “I can hear the first car pulling up.” 

Scott and Isaac got there first. Scott gave Stiles a big hug before sitting on the couch next to Isaac. Erica and Boyd arrived next, each giving a nod to Derek and then to Stiles before sitting next to each other on the other couch. Stiles couldn’t help but notice that they kept their hands intertwined as they sat down. He guessed they didn’t feel the need to hide their affections anymore. Jackson and Lydia were the last two to arrive. Lydia paused at the open doorway, like she was afraid to enter the room. Jackson tugged at her hand but it wasn’t until Derek gave her an accepting nod that she allowed herself to be led into the living room. She and Jackson both squeezed onto the couch next to Erica and Boyd. 

Stiles let his eyes linger to the empty spot on the couch next to Scott. That’s where he used to sit at these meetings. He thought about sitting there once more but knew he shouldn’t. He stood to Derek’s right with his hands in his pockets, eyeing each member of the pack, of _his_ pack. He let himself have a small moment of nostalgia as he looked around the room. This summer had changed him, had changed him so much. 

He had always had a family. He had his dad and he had Scott. He had grandparents that lived downstate and an aunt who lived in Colorado. But this summer had given him a new family, had given him friends that he loved, had given him Derek. No matter what happened at this meeting, he’d hold no grudges, his love for each and every member of his pack would remain the same. Because he knew this was just the beginning and that they had the rest of their lives to develop these relationships, to build their pack, and to build their family. 

Derek spoke first. That’s how these things usually went. He was the Alpha after all. 

“Good evening,” Derek started. And Stiles did his best to control his expression even though he wanted to just burst out laughing at how ridiculous Derek _still_ sounded when he was trying to express pleasantries using his growly Alpha voice. 

“You all know why we’re gathered tonight,” Derek continued. “Stiles is a werewolf again and we’ve been dating. I intend on taking him as my mate. So let’s take a vote.” 

“Wait, wait, wait! We have to say more than that!” Stiles butted in, taking a step forward. Derek scowled but didn’t stop Stiles from taking the floor. 

“Hey guys…” Stiles started, eyeing the room apprehensively. “I know this is all kind of sudden. I mean, I just got my wolf back and Derek and I just let the rest of you guys in on the fact that we’ve been going out. But the truth is that we’re not _just_ going out… we’re in love… and we want to mate…” 

Jackson mimed vomiting at the mention of the word _mate_. 

“Head out of the gutter, Whittemore. We want to become mates, which would change the dynamics of the pack. I wouldn’t be just another one of the Betas. As the Alpha’s mate, I’d be a leader in the pack. And I wouldn’t want to force that on all of you without at least talking about it first, making sure the pack was okay with it. I need to know how you all feel about this before we move forward.” 

Stiles felt a strong hand pulling at his wrist. When his hand was extracted from his pocket, Stiles felt Derek’s fingers interlocking with his own. Derek’s scowl didn’t change and Stiles knew Derek was still unhappy that they were asking for the pack’s approval on this at all but the gesture was still comforting. Derek was _his_ now, no matter what the pack said, and he couldn’t help but blush a little as he looked into Derek’s eyes. 

“So…” Stiles said, turning back towards the others because if he wasn’t careful, he could get lost in those peridot eyes. “Thoughts?” 

No one spoke at first. Stiles kind of expected that. This was awkward, like really awkward. He kind of felt like that weird step-mom candidate who is presented to the children with the title of “their new mommy.” But he really had no intention of “mothering” any of them. He just knew that as the Alpha’s mate, he’d have a certain amount of power over the others in the pack. He could bend their actions to his will in a similar fashion to the Alpha. He could give them orders and could influence their emotions. And he didn’t want that forced on the Betas without due process first. He was being fair. They would see that. _Hopefully_. 

Stiles figured Scott would be his primary advocate so he was a little surprised when it was Isaac who spoke up first. 

“I think it’s kinda great,” Isaac remarked. 

“You do?” Stiles and Jackson replied almost in unison. Theirs weren’t the only eyes to widen at Isaac’s statement. 

“Yea, I do,” Isaac confirmed. “I mean, I think Stiles is already kind of a leader in the pack. Like remember when Derek was captured by the hunters and it was Stiles who gathered the whole pack together to find him? And even before that, when Erica and Boyd went missing, it was Stiles’ plan that led us to Iowa in the first place. And just the other day, when I told Stiles that Allison was coming back to town, Stiles first thought was how this would impact the pack. Stiles takes his place in the pack seriously and he’s always been a good leader. I think he’s already proven that he’d be a great Alpha’s mate. And if him and Derek make each other happy, I don’t think we should stand in the way of that. So if it does come down to a vote, you’ve got mine.” 

Stiles was practically in shock. He didn’t know why he expected resistance, why he expected having to defend himself to the pack, but he did. And hearing the complete opposite, hearing Isaac stand up for him and defend him was just… just so much more than he was ready for. He smiled stupidly at Isaac, his cheeks no doubt blushing a deep red. 

“Wow,” was all Stiles could say. “Thanks, Isaac.” 

“And you know you’ve got my vote, buddy,” Scott chimed in. “I still think you can do better but if Derek is the one you want, well then I think you’d be a great Alpha’s mate too.” 

It was silent for a moment before Erica spoke up. 

“Stiles, you wouldn’t have gotten into this whole werewolf mess if it weren’t for me,” she spoke softly but with confidence. “But in the midst of all the shit you’ve been through… if you’ve actually managed to find something good, to find someone you love, then I’m happy for you and the least I could do to repay you is support your decision.” 

“Me too,” Boyd added. He always was a man of few words. 

Stiles could feel his smile widening. He was not expecting everyone to be okay with this. But it was already 4-0… not that he was keeping score or anything. 

Jackson huffed through his nostrils and rolled his eyes but as he looked around the room, Stiles could tell Jackson didn’t want to be the odd man out. 

“Just don’t think this means I’m going to go easy on you during training,” was all he mumbled and Stiles knew he had Jackson’s approval too. 

That only left one. 

Lydia looked uncomfortable where she sat, picking at one of her nails nervously. Her anxiety seemed to increase when all the eyes in the room came to rest on her. 

“Umm… what?” she asked, confused. 

“You get a say too,” Stiles said encouragingly. 

“This doesn’t really affect me much so I don’t mind just keeping quiet while you guys…” she stammered. 

“Are you a member of this pack?!” Derek huffed loudly, eyes glaring. Stiles knew Derek still had a lot of animosity towards Lydia, even if she had gotten Stiles his wolf back. Stiles knew Derek still blamed her more than he probably should. And Stiles knew that anger was a hard thing for Derek to let go of. So Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand and when he looked in Stiles’ direction, he stared him down, giving Derek a look that said “ _go easy on her_.” 

“Sorry,” Derek mumbled. And Stiles knew that just that word alone showed how much Derek had changed as an Alpha over this past summer. There would never have been even a hint of an apology from the Alpha for any reason before. Now, he offered it freely at Stiles’ command. They really had changed… 

“Are you a member of this pack?” Derek asked again in a lighter tone. Stiles wished maybe Derek would smile because Lydia was still obviously intimidated but baby steps… 

“Uhh….” Lydia paused, like she didn’t know the right answer. “Yes?” 

“Are you asking me?” Derek replied, keeping his tone at least semi-civilized. 

“Yes, I am,” Lydia repeated, with heart this time. 

“Then this affects you too,” Derek said flatly. “And you get an opinion. So express it.” 

“Okay…” she started, still hesitant. “I just want Stiles to be happy. If being your mate will make Stiles happy… then I’m all for it.” 

“Great,” Stiles said, happy that all eyes immediately drifted back to him and away from Lydia, who he felt could probably use some time to regain her confidence while being outside of the spotlight. “That was… um… a lot better than I was expecting. Without sounding _too_ cheesy, I want you guys to know that you all really mean a lot to me and I’m really happy to be in your pack… again… and as Derek’s mate, I promise to treat you guys fairly… and with respect… and a never-ending amount of wit and sarcasm! ” 

That brought a few chuckles from the wolves and smiles all-around. 

“Group hug!” Scott chanted as he jumped from the couch, pulling Isaac with him. 

A few seconds later, Stiles was being crushed in the middle of a pile of arms and bodies as six other werewolves and one human all squeezed themselves around him and embraced. 

“So does this mean we should start calling you ‘Mom?’” Scott asked chuckling, his voice partially muffled because his cheek was being smashed by Boyd’s shoulder. 

“Only if you want to lose the ability to speak,” Stiles retorted. 

Through the laughs and multitude of body parts pressed against him, Stiles could feel one warm hand pressed around his waist that he knew belonged to Derek. And as he felt that hand tighten against his side, he knew he had done the right thing. He knew that Derek needed to see this, needed to see that they could be a pack, all of them, together. Derek needed to see how it would be from now on. Gone were the days when anyone, least of all Derek, would have to feel like they were on their own. Now, they had each other, each and every one. 

A family. 

** 

“Tell me about the ritual again,” Stiles asked, turning his head upward from where it rested on Derek’s chest, so his eyes could meet Derek’s even though it put a little too much strain on his neck. 

Derek sighed but after a moment obliged. 

“Okay, step 1…” 

“Not like that,” Stiles whined. “Do it the other way. The way that makes it sound like some kind of ancient werewolf legend passed down through the generations.” 

“ _Ancient legend_ …” Derek toyed with the words. 

Then, Derek began speaking in a deep and ominous voice, his voice lower than Stiles could ever remember it being. 

“You could start by running to the Room of the Three Gargoyles. Push the right tongue, and a door _might_ lead you down a staircase into the Wall Climb…” 

“What the heck is that?” Stiles asked, completely confused as he separated himself from Derek, who suddenly couldn’t stop laughing. And even though Stiles loved hearing Derek laugh, because there was a time when the guy wouldn’t even smile let alone burst out in open laughter, Stiles looked at him dumbfounded. 

“Olmec,” Derek said flatly. There was a subtly implied _Duh_ in his voice as if that should sum everything up. 

“Umm… what?” 

“My God!” Derek wailed, covering his face in his hands, half-chuckling and half-whining. “I’m dating a toddler! You don’t even recognize _Legends of the Hidden Temple_ when you hear it!” 

Stiles didn’t know if he should laugh too or punch Derek for calling him a toddler. 

“You can quote that show, after all this time?” Stiles scoffed. 

“Hey, it was my favorite show growing up!” Derek defended. “I always wanted to be a Blue Barracuda!” 

“Just couldn’t wait to get your claws on a brand new Yamaha keyboard, huh? Or maybe some fresh new Sketchers?” Stiles teased. 

“You have seen it!” Derek said smiling. His face looked far too relieved. 

“Once or twice,” Stiles replied. “I’m not _that_ much younger than you, geez. Now, c’mon, werewolf lore, GO.” 

“Fine then,” Derek conceded. “According to _werewolf lore_ , the bonding of an Alpha and their mate can only occur when the sun loses its authority over the moon and the two have equal precedence over the sky.” 

“aka during an equinox…” Stiles interjected. 

Derek frowned at the interruption, giving Stiles an annoyed look. 

“Sorry,” Stiles said, putting on his widest smile. 

“Anyway,” Derek continued, smiling back. “The bond is formed when beneath the light of the moon, the Alpha and their mate give themselves over to each other completely, joining together in body, in blood, and in spirit.” 

“Well, if you’d like to get this show on the road, I’m willing to give you my body right now….” Stiles smirked as he ran his hand up Derek’s thigh. 

“Gross!” came a shout from another room. 

“Avert your ears, Isaac!” Stiles yelled but it was too late. Derek had already stopped Stiles’ hand a few inches short of its destination and was giving Stiles _the look_ , giving Stiles that look that he knew meant he was overstepping his bounds, because Derek wanted to _wait_ , because Derek was some kind of hopeless romantic that wanted their first time together to _mean_ something, to be _special_ …. 

“Fine,” Stiles sighed. He was used to Derek grounding him, used to Derek keeping him level-headed, and it wasn’t like they’d done _nothing_ … there’d been kissing, a lot of friggin kissing, and groping, and some grinding, and Stiles had literally had his hands over every inch of Derek’s body (okay, maybe not _literally_ , there was still one _handful_ of inches he’d yet to get ahold of…), and vice versa… they were just saving that last step, you know actually fucking, for the night of their mating… 

Derek pulled Stiles in for a soft kiss, which sent a shiver up and down Stiles’ spine and did nothing to calm his arousal, but then Derek was pulling away and talking again. 

“Ancient packs believed that all bonds in a pack were established through the hunt. Thus, the mating bond would always begin with a hunt. They also believed that when wolves shared of the same kill, nourishing their bodies from the same flesh, that their own bodies were connected through the lifeforce of their kill. Thus, when the Alpha and their mate share in consuming prey they have hunted together, they will have met the first requirement and joined each other in body…” 

“Yummy…” Stiles sighed. Eating raw, bloody, hairy woodland creatures seemed like the _perfect_ aphrodisiac for his first time with Derek… 

“The ancient wolves also believed that blood was sacred,” Derek continued. “When they would give the bite to a human, the werewolf would smear his or her own blood into the wound, encouraging the change, but also as a sign of welcoming into the pack. To make another wolf bleed was considered a great personal offense. When the Alpha and their mate share their blood, they give unto each other their most sacred possession, the very fuel which keeps them alive, and in that they fulfill the second requirement…” 

“Friggin vampires….” Stiles groaned. Derek just chuckled. 

“And finally, the ancient packs believed that when two people engage in sexual intercourse…” 

“Woo hoo! Finally getting to the good part!” Stiles interrupted again. 

“…not only do their bodies connect, but also their spirits. And so the final and most important requirement for the establishment of a mate bond, is that the two wolves must actually _mate_ , and bind their own spirit to that of other. Once the third and final requirement has been met, the two are mated forever in a bond that no man nor wolf can ever break.” 

“Poetic…” Stiles teased. 

“Over the generations, most packs have developed their own ceremonies for mating, with many variations of the original tale. Many packs opt for a giant feast with the whole pack instead of a hunt. Others take the opposite approach, performing a week-long hunt before the night of the mating. Sometimes the exchange of blood is traded for an exchange of bites or other forms of marking. One pack I heard of had the two mates get matching tattoos… The only set-in-stone requirements seem to be the night of the equinox, a pure, un-coerced intent to mate, and consummation, of course.” 

“So why all the hunting and biting and bleeding stuff?” Stiles asked. 

“Because it’s the easiest way to show intent,” Derek answered. “You wouldn’t hunt with someone you weren’t bonded with, wouldn’t share your kill with someone you didn’t care for. You wouldn’t voluntarily injure yourself and bleed for someone you didn’t love and wouldn’t accept the blood of someone else into yourself if you didn’t want to be one with them… Would you?” 

“I guess…” Stiles agreed. “So what did your pack used to do?” Stiles then asked. 

He had heard the ancient werewolf lore a few times now but had never gotten the courage to ask what Derek’s pack used to do for mating rituals when he was a kid. He was still afraid to bring up topics of Derek’s childhood, not wanting to upset him. But this time, the words had left his mouth before the saner part of his brain could stop them. 

“I’m not sure,” Derek answered. “My parents were already mated by the time I was born. There were a few Beta mating ceremonies. We’d always have a big celebration beforehand, and then on the night of the _event_ , the two would go into the woods and _do their thing_ , and then the next day, the celebration continued. But this is our pack now, mine and yours. It’s up to us to decide what we want our pack’s traditions to be.” 

“I don’t know,” Stiles scoffed. “How would I know that?” 

“Well, we could always wait,” Derek suggested. “There’s no rush, Stiles. Just because the pack agreed to this doesn’t mean we have to do it at the first possible moment. We could take the time to figure out what we want to do and how we want to do it. There will be other nights… other chances for the ritual. You have school and lacrosse to worry about and you could probably use the extra time to think… to decide if…” 

“Don’t you dare say ‘if this is what I really want,’” Stiles interjected. “I’m sure, Derek. _I’m sure. I’m 100 percent positive._ And we’re not waiting. If we don’t do it next week, we’ll have to wait sixth months for the next equinox. And I can’t wait, okay? I won’t.” 

Stiles exhaled in frustration as Derek pulled him back into an embrace, wrapping his warm arms around Stiles’ midsection. He knew this was what he wanted. He knew this was what he needed, to be Derek’s mate, forever. 

There’d always be reasons to put it off: school, lacrosse matches, graduation, college, hunters, hurricanes, alien invasions, Mercury in the fourth house and Saturn in retrograde… 

He didn’t care about the reasons. 

He wasn’t waiting. 

No more waiting. 

** 

Derek could barely make out the shape of the moon through the branches overhead. 

He raced through the pillars of trees, claws and fangs at the ready, his eyes and ears ever perceptive. 

A howl pierced the night air and Derek picked up his pace. He raced in a curved trajectory, jumping over a log and bounding under a branch, until he picked up on the scent of their prey. He hurdled towards the scent and picked up the sound of a pounding heartbeat to match. 

The buck, however, wasn’t as perceptive. By the time it realized it was heading straight for Derek, the beast had almost completed its collision course. It darted to the right at the last second, frantic and fearful, just out of reach of Derek’s claws. It smacked into a large tree trunk, losing its balance and bumbling forward awkwardly in its desperate attempt to flee its attackers. 

Derek rushed forward, his claws itching to sink into warm flesh, but he didn’t move fast enough. A flash of speeding limbs and Stiles was on top of the buck, claws of both hands boring deep into the animal’s sides. 

Derek was surprised at how fearless Stiles was, despite this being his first hunt. He remembered his own first hunt. He was barely a pre-teen, maybe ten or eleven years old, and his dad had taken him out, just the two of them. He was afraid to hunt for bucks back then. Not only because he had a lot to live up to, Laura hadn’t had any difficulty taking down a 12-point buck the first time she had hunted, and there was always the chance that he wouldn’t be good at this, that his instincts would be faulty and he’d be a terrible hunter. But mostly he had been afraid of those antlers. He had known they wouldn’t kill him even if the beast managed to sink the sharp spikes into his flesh but he had still been afraid of being hurt, of bleeding, of being in _pain_. He didn’t have the pain tolerance as an eleven year old that he had now. He didn’t even know what real pain _was_ back then. 

But Stiles had taken down his first buck like a pro, just as Derek had way back when. Stiles was still on top of the struggling beast, biting at its throat. It was the wolf’s instinct to go for the jugular, to go for the quick kill. 

Derek approached predator and prey. He looked into the dying beast’s eyes, large and knowing. He grabbed each of the buck’s antlers in his hands and jerked them both swiftly to the right. He heard the harsh snap of the creature’s neck and the buck’s struggling stopped. The beast was out of its misery. 

That had been an important lesson he had learned on that first hunt so many moons ago. 

“ _We don’t let the animal suffer, Derek. The wolf in us wouldn’t care, a kill is a kill. But we are human too, and humans are innately good. They don’t allow innocent creatures to suffer._ ” 

His father’s words had seemed hollow for a long time. He had met humans who were cruel, had met humans who enjoyed suffering. 

But now he knew what his father meant. Because he had met humans who _were_ good, who were kind and generous and loving. 

_Stiles was good._

Even if he wasn’t exactly human anymore. Stiles had always been good. Stiles made Derek feel like he never thought he would: happy, worthwhile, _alive_. 

“Open up,” Stiles said, presenting a bloody piece of torn deer muscle to Derek’s lips. 

Derek was pulled back to the task at hand. Stiles was standing before him, a bloody mess, but still completely adorable as he held the meat up for Derek. Derek’s wolf was stirring at the sight. 

“I thought this was gross,” Derek scoffed before accepting the raw meat into his mouth. He knew it wasn’t a taste most humans acquired but he had been eating raw meat on hunts with his family since he was a kid. Sure, it had been awhile, but you never really lose the affinity for the taste. 

It was hot and chewy in his mouth, just as he remembered. The bite was small and he swallowed it quickly. He held Stiles’ hand to his mouth for a moment, sucking the blood off the boy’s thumb, and then following suit with each of the boy’s other four fingers, before releasing it. 

“ _That_ … was gross,” Stiles teased, but Derek hadn’t heard him complaining so he didn’t take offense. “But I kind of like the idea of doing this the old-fashioned way, so sue me. And for whatever effed up reason, my wolf thinks this raw piece of deer ass looks absolutely delicious…” 

And with that, Stiles lifted a hefty piece of torn deer meat to his own mouth and ate it voraciously. Some spitty, bloody goop drooled down from Stiles’ lips. To anyone else, it might look positively disgusting. But to Derek… it reminded him of his little cousins when the family would go on hunts during the full moon, the way they had absolutely no qualms about digging right into the kill, sloppy and messy. It reminded Derek of family. 

And Derek thought that was a little fitting, because Stiles _was_ his family now. 

He pulled Stiles into himself just as the boy swallowed his food. He grabbed him by the head, thumbs locking just in front of Stiles’ ears, and pulled his face forward into a deep kiss. It was hot and wet and needy and Derek could still taste the deer on Stiles’ tongue. His wolf was going crazy again and he knew he couldn’t wait much longer. He had to have Stiles, had to have Stiles right now. 

“There’s a stream nearby,” Derek said hastily, forcing himself to break away from Stiles lips. “Let’s get cleaned up…” 

“Ok,” Stiles agreed. “But what about-…?” Stiles didn’t finish the question but rather motioned to the carcass near their feet. 

“We’ll come back for it in the morning,” Derek said. “Maybe have a barbeque tomorrow night? Invite the pack?” 

“I’d like that,” Stiles agreed before leaning in to press one more soft kiss against Derek’s lips. 

** 

Stiles bounded into the stream, splashing water over his hands and arms and then up onto his face and neck. 

He had gotten caught up in the moment with the deer, had let his wolf take over and guide his actions. But now that the blood was drying over his skin, he felt sticky and dirty and gross. He cupped his palm and scooped some of the water into his mouth. He swished it around and spat it back it out, getting the majority of the taste of blood out of his mouth. It didn’t taste _bad_ , the deer blood, actually quite the opposite. His wolf kind of enjoyed the taste too much. But he was done with it. Stiles had had enough bloody deer carcass hor d'oeuvres for one evening, thank you. 

His shirt was drenched in stream water and blood. He knew the stains would probably never come out so he ripped the fabric off and tossed it to the stream bank so he could splash water on his shoulders and chest to wash the blood off. 

When he finally felt clean, he stood up and looked to Derek. 

Derek was standing only a couple feet away. He was already clean, having been considerably less bloody than Stiles. His shirt had been removed too and Stiles couldn’t help notice the way the moonlight bounced off the man’s smooth skin, reflecting in the tiny water droplets that still clung over Derek’s neck and chest. His wolf was tingling again. Well, maybe it had never stopped. He just noticed it more now because it was pouncing in his head, screaming and howling. He didn’t think he’d ever gone from six to midnight so quickly. 

He wanted Derek. He wanted Derek now. 

He waded through the shallow water over to his boyfriend, to his _mate_ as it were. He was going to have to get used to that word now. 

Derek’s arms wrapped around his waist. Stiles didn’t hesitate to bring his lips to Derek’s, inhaling deeply as they kissed. His fingers were in Derek’s hair. It was always softer than it looked and it sifted through Stiles’ moving fingers easily. 

He broke his lips away from Derek’s, mouthing a trail down to his jaw, over his mandible, and onto his neck. He sucked on the rough skin, feeling the pulsing beat of the artery underneath. He inhaled again, deeper, and took in the hot scent of his mate. He had never known smells to be so _arousing_ but that was just going to have to be another thing he got used to because Derek’s scent was Stiles’ own personal aphrodisiac. He was getting harder by the second. 

He inhaled again and sucked on Derek’s neck harder as the waves of arousal increased in the air around them. A low-pitched noise of pleasure left Derek’s mouth, part moan and part _wolfy_ rumble. 

Stiles mouthed a trail further south until he was sucking on the taut muscle where Derek’s neck met his shoulder. Derek let out another moan of pleasure and Stiles’ wolf awakened once again, rushing towards the surface. 

It was easier to embrace his wolf now more than ever before. He didn’t fight as his teeth sharpened to fangs and he didn’t resist as his wolf clamped his sharp teeth together, digging into Derek’s flesh. He knew he needed to do this, knew his wolf _needed_ to do this, to mark his mate. He could taste blood on his tongue again, but not deer blood this time. 

He had expected Derek to recoil but Derek just moaned again in pleasure as Stiles’ teeth tugged a little harder. When he finally released his jaws and lifted his head, there was a decent-sized bite mark left on Derek’s skin and a few threads of blood were coursing steadily down Derek’s left pectoral. 

He looked into Derek’s eyes, still glistening in the moonlight, and didn’t find any pain or anger there. There was just lust and awe and… _love_. 

Stiles hadn’t felt when Derek had taken his wrist into his large hand but as it was raised upwards, he followed with his eyes as Derek brought it to his lips. Their eyes met again and Stiles could see the subtle questioning, the hints of doubt, the unspoken words of “ _Can I? Is this okay?_ ” and Stiles wondered when Derek would lose the hesitation already and just take what Stiles was freely giving. 

“Do it,” Stiles whispered before Derek could even ask the question Stiles knew was coming. 

The fangs were in his flesh before he had even noticed Derek had let them loose. There was blood flowing almost immediately from the bite on his wrist but it didn’t hurt. It didn’t even register in his brain as pain. It just registered as _need_. And he knew what he needed. 

Stiles pressed his wrist into the crook of Derek’s neck so the two bites were flush with one another. As his blood mixed with Derek’s, his wrist began to heat up. It felt hot, like ripples of fire were swimming up his veins, but still there was no pain, only need. He needed Derek, needed him so fucking bad. 

He kept his wrist in place as their blood continued to flow into one another. He looked into Derek’s eyes again, there was so much want in them, so much passion. He brought their lips together again as he felt Derek’s arms tighten around him. 

** 

Derek was actually surprised that they’d made it to the large oak tree where he had taken Stiles the night of their first date. But now that they were here, he was happy they had at least held out this long. This had been the place where he had first opened up to Stiles but more importantly, it was the place where Derek had first realized that he was in this for good, that he was ready and willing to be with Stiles forever. 

And after tonight, they would be. 

The symbolism might not exactly be perfect, things in Derek’s life rarely were, but this place was special and it seemed fitting that this would be the place where he would take Stiles to be his mate. 

Their arousal had been pungent in the air the whole walk here and there had been multiple stops to kiss and rut up against a tree or to pull at the other’s clothing, dotting the forest floor with their garments as they made their way to the area Derek had set up. 

“You seriously carried a mattress all the way out here?” Stiles gasped as he looked down behind him to see what the backs of his legs had just bumped into. Derek knew Stiles had been a little too preoccupied with Derek’s mouth to notice the mattress even a second before they stumbled into it. 

“It seemed more sensible than the ground,” Derek shrugged. It hadn’t been that much effort really. It was just a mattress and a few pillows and blankets. But it would be enough. 

He wanted Stiles to be comfortable. And if that meant he lost a few linens and possibly a mattress in the process, so be it. He knew the set up wouldn’t remain orderly for long. He could already feel his fangs and claws itching to be set free as his arousal grew and the inevitable sex drew ever nearer. He wouldn’t last long in his human form once they started, and Stiles would probably shift even sooner than that. 

Derek pushed Stiles back onto the mattress and leaned forward, bringing their lips back together. It was time, the moment that they had been building toward on so many other occasions was finally here and there’d be no stopping themselves short. They were going all the way this time. 

And both of them knew it. 

It probably should have been slower and more tender than it really was. But they were both so needy, so fucking ready to take this over the edge. Derek’s wolf was howling; he had never been so turned on in his life. He had been tenting his boxer briefs since the stream and further dampening the fabric in arousal with every touch and every kiss on the way to the clearing. 

As his lips pressed firmly into Stiles’, hot and wet, he could feel Stiles’ hands coursing down his back, sliding over muscles until they reached Derek’s waistband. Derek moaned as Stiles plunged his hands forward, gripping Derek’s exposed ass. Derek reached between them until he felt Stiles boxer shorts. He clawed through them quickly, ripping the fabric and tossing the shredded remains away. 

“Hey! I liked that pair of underwear,” Stiles whined into Derek’s lips. Derek just growled and pulled at his own underwear, clawing them off and tossing them aside. 

He paused for a second as he hovered over Stiles. Both of them were naked and eyeing each other’s figures. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at his naked mate drenched in moonlight. As cheesy as it sounded, he had never seen anything more beautiful. 

Stiles was staring too. And Derek just grinned. If anyone else had looked at him like that, he’d feel embarrassed. He’d want to run or growl or hide. But when Stiles looked at him like that, with his eyes swimming in lust and wonderment, it was just too perfect. If Stiles never looked at him with any other expression ever again, Derek could die happy. 

Derek leaned in again, pressing their bodies into one another, hot flesh against hot flesh. Derek started at Stiles mouth, kissing and sucking, and then brought his mouth to Stiles’ neck. He inhaled deeply, loving the smell, and sucked on the pale flesh as Stiles moaned. 

“Tell me what you want me to do,” Derek whispered in Stiles’ ear. 

Derek knew they would have forever to get this right, to learn each other’s bodies, to find out what the other liked, what drove the other one wild. But this was their first time and he wanted it to be memorable. He wanted it to be as perfect for Stiles as possible. So he’d give Stiles whatever he wanted. 

“I guess… you could… suck me off… if you want…” Stiles gasped between moans as Derek continued to suck on his sensitive skin. 

Another time, Derek might go slower. He might stop to suck at Stiles’ collarbone or nipples or abdomen as he made his way south. But Stiles was so _hard_ against Derek’s skin, and he was oozing, and he smelled so fucking _hot_ with lust that Derek couldn’t bear to take his time. 

Derek took Stiles deep into his mouth. Any apprehension he had about his skill considering this was his first time sucking cock was immediately dissipated by the unholy moans erupting from Stiles as Derek worked his mouth up and down Stiles’ length. Derek had only just gotten a good rhythm going when Stiles began to whine words between his moans. 

“Fuck… Derek… I’m… gonna…” 

_Already?_ Derek thought as he prepared himself. He knew Stiles was still a teen and would probably be lacking in the stamina department but this was just… 

A howl erupted from Stiles’ lips and Derek realized Stiles hadn’t been talking about his orgasm, but rather his shift. Stiles gripped the mattress roughly with clawed hands and growled through fanged teeth as Derek continued to work up and down his shaft. Looking upwards, Derek could make out the two glints of gold in Stiles’ eyes when he ventured to open them. Stiles continued to rumble sounds of animalistic pleasure as Derek sucked and licked furiously. 

It was difficult for Derek to keep his composure with Stiles shifted. His wolf was reeling and he so intensely wanted to shift, wanted to claim, wanted to take Stiles roughly and passionately. But if he shifted, he wouldn’t be able to do this so he held it back with all his might and stayed focused on the task at hand. 

After a few more minutes of bliss, Derek could tell Stiles was _actually_ reaching the point of no return as his breathing became more frantic and his moaning became more exhaustive. Derek worked him right through it and when that moment came and Derek felt the hot, sweet burst of fluid hit his throat that tasted so intensely of _Stiles_ , he swallowed it with fervor, happy that he could please his mate so thoroughly. 

Derek was barely two seconds off of Stiles’ dick when through ragged breaths, Stiles moaned the words, “Fuck me, Derek. I’m ready.” 

The reaction Derek experienced when he heard those words was immediate. It was like floodgates opened and Derek couldn’t hold back his wolf anymore. It was time to claim, time to mate, and nothing, _nothing_ , could stop his wolf from claiming his mate. He shifted so suddenly, his fangs and claws and everything had changed before he could even think to stop it. 

The wolf took control of his body. He hadn’t lost control like this in a long while but he couldn’t keep his wolf from doing this. He needed this as much as his wolf did. 

He took one of Stiles’ ankles in each hand, lifting them skyward and exposing Stiles’ tender opening. The sight caused Derek to drool copious amounts of saliva. You’d think he was getting ready to administer the bite to twenty people at once with the amount of drool that was cascading from his mouth but tonight his saliva had a different purpose. He caught the falling strands of spit in his palm and carefully rubbed the viscous fluid all over his stiff cock. 

He gripped Stiles’ ankles again and positioned himself in front of Stiles’ hole. His cock was twitching in anticipation and his wolf was so ready to take what was his, to claim his mate. 

In one final moment of sanity, Derek stopped himself from proceeding. It was near impossible to stop his wolf when he was this close to getting what they both so desperately wanted, but this was for Stiles. He loved Stiles enough to hold back. 

“Stiles…” Derek whined. The wolf was fighting back. It didn’t want to wait. “Stiles… you’re not…. you’re too tight…. loosen first…” He couldn’t even spare enough concentration to put a proper sentence together. 

“I’m a werewolf, Derek,” Stiles moaned. “I can take it. Take me, Derek. Make me your mate.” His voice was so sexy like this, hot and bothered and _needy_. Derek couldn’t resist. He didn’t want to hurt Stiles. He wanted to go slow, to be tender, to be romantic. 

But his wolf had other ideas. 

Derek couldn’t stop himself as he pressed himself into Stiles. And honestly, he didn’t want to. He wanted this so fucking bad. He had imagined this moment, had imagined taking Stiles, a thousand times over in a thousand different ways and now he was finally getting it. 

The first few thrusts were slow, just to gain a rhythm, and once the initial resistance from Stiles’ hole subsided, his wolf began to really get going. He pressed into Stiles hard and deep, prodding in and out fast and uncoordinated, as equally needy and inexperienced as the boy below him. 

Stiles moaned loudly with each thrust, and each time it became more vulgar, more wanton, more _wolfy_. It spurred Derek on. He moaned in unison, his wolf rumbling and growling in synchrony with his mate’s wolf. 

He pressed Stiles’ legs forward, bending them downward, giving him more leverage over Stiles but also giving him space to lean down so their lips could meet. Stiles arched his neck up to meet Derek and their hot mouths pressed into each other, kissing sloppily through the moans. 

Derek continued to pound into Stiles, each passing of his cock sending new waves of pleasure through his body. He had never known pleasure like this. Not with Kate, not with anyone. He was hot and sweaty as Stiles writhed beneath him, his beautiful body glistening in the moonlight as he met each thrust in time, thrusting back into Derek and opening himself up further. 

Derek could feel his orgasm building. He knew all good things must eventually come to an end but he hated that he couldn’t feel like this forever, connected to Stiles so intimately, their bodies one and their pleasure so paramount. 

When it was time, Derek pressed his hips firmly against Stiles’ pelvis, locking them together and plunging himself deep inside Stiles. He couldn’t stop his wolf from lifting back his head and howling, loud and deep into the night, as the ripples of his orgasm coursed through his body and erupted pulse after pulse of his hot seed into Stiles’ awaiting hole. 

When the last pulse subsided, Derek reluctantly extracted himself from Stiles, and gently let the boy’s legs come to rest back down on the bed. Stiles’ eyes were clamped shut, his hands behind his head so his elbows jutted in the air, and he was breathing rough and ragged. 

“Wow… just…. wow…” Stiles huffed. 

“Yea,” Derek agreed. He felt as exhausted and frayed and elated as Stiles looked. He didn’t know whose heartbeat was beating faster, whose lungs were gasping harder. 

Derek leaned in for a kiss. Soft this time, slower and softer than they’d had all night. He inhaled deeply as he just barely moved his lips against Stiles’, gently brushing them together in unison. Stiles smelled sweet now, his scent warm and inviting, but Derek could make out the traces of his own scent emanating within Stiles’. Because they were connected now. 

Because they were mates now. 

Derek lifted his face away from Stiles’, just a few inches, just so he could see it. He knew it was real, he could feel the connection to Stiles within him, but he still needed to see it. 

Stiles took a few more breaths and then opened his eyes. 

And there they were. 

Stiles’ eyes were the most beautiful shade of pure, untarnished violet that Derek had ever seen. 

** 

~ 

Derek was falling through the blackness. 

No, wait. Not falling. Nope, definitely not falling. 

Swaying. 

Derek was swaying through the blackness. 

As he took a poll of his senses, his distinct lack of being able to see anything was made up for by all the things he was hearing and smelling and feeling. 

There was music playing. It was a calming instrumental and it filled the air with the notes of a piano and a harp and… a violin? Maybe a viola. Either way, it was beautiful. It was romantic. The music was drowning out the other noises around him but if he really tried, he could hear other things too. There were the sounds of camera shutters clicking and drinks being poured over clinking ice cubes and muffled _Oohs_ and whispers of ‘ _They look so cute._ ’ There was a loud whistle and the immediate sound of a slap as the person who whistled got what was coming to them and then there was laughter. And there was the gentle thumping of heartbeats, their two synchronous heartbeats, calling to one another in a serenade beautiful enough to rival the music playing around them. 

He could smell Stiles and that made him smile because nothing calmed him more than the scent of his mate. And he knew Stiles was close because the scent of cherries and honey was so hot in his nose that he almost couldn’t pick up on anything else. It covered up the earthy smell of the forest around them and the smells of at least a dozen kinds of flowers and the mixture of all the scents of all the other people in the pavilion. It covered up the smells of champagne and roasted venison and chocolate cake. He had smelled Stiles’ scent so many times before on so many other days and it was always sweet and always comforting and always _home_. But today it was different. Today it was better. Today it was richer and sweeter and just…, just more _perfect_ than it had ever been. Because there was so much joy in Stiles’ scent, so much love, so much pure bliss coming from the young man that it made it that much more intoxicating for Derek. 

He was still swaying, a gentle rocking back and forth with a slight turning of his feet so that with each sway, they slowly rotated along the dance floor. A foot stumbled into his own which brought a laugh from the man in his arms. Derek could feel the touch of his mate, could feel the smooth fabric beneath his fingertips. Derek’s arms were locked behind Stiles’ lower back and he could feel Stiles’ arms draping over his shoulders, linked behind Derek’s neck. There was a slight pressure at Derek’s left temple, where he could feel the warm press of Stiles’ skin against his own. 

The two continued to dance as the music played and Derek took in the sounds and the smells and the feelings, both the actual things he was touching and his emotions, namely more joy in a single moment than he’d ever experienced before. 

When the last note of the harp faded to nothing, Derek stopped swaying. Stiles didn’t pull away at first, but his lips were at Derek’s ear, muttering ever so quietly so that only he could hear: 

“I love you, Derek, forever.” 

That was when Derek finally opened his eyes, reclining his neck so he could look into Stiles’ face. He ignored all of the distractions around them as time stood still and he stared deep into Stiles’ rich butterscotch eyes. He didn’t ever want to forget this moment because he couldn’t imagine a more perfect one, in days past or in those to come. Stiles in his arms, wide-eyed and smiling, at the close of their first dance together as a married couple. 

Stiles’ eyes faded to violet and Derek’s heart rate hijacked it up to full-gear. The corners of Stiles’ lips arched up ever so slightly, making his smile just ever so mischievous. Stiles got some sort of sick pleasure out of the way all of Derek’s senses went crazy at the sight of those beautiful violet eyes and hardly a day went by when Stiles wasn’t flashing his amethysts whenever Derek was least expecting it. And Derek’s immediate response every time was to grab Stiles and pull him close, sometimes gently and sometimes so rough that Stiles wound up with torn clothing, and Derek would kiss Stiles with fervor until they had both had their fill and his heartbeat could return to normal. 

And the day of their wedding was no different. 

Derek pulled Stiles into himself, not that they could get much closer, but now Stiles’ body was completely flush against his own, and Derek locked his lips with Stiles’ and kissed him with passion. He inhaled deeply, catching even more of Stiles’ scent and the waves of surprise and lust that now encompassed it. 

The kiss was short-lived, though, as the audience all around them began to cheer and whistle and clap. There was some clanging of glasses with forks and a clearly audible, “Get it, Stiles!” from none other than Stiles’ annoyingly endearing best friend. 

This caused both Stiles and Derek to laugh and break apart. Stiles gave a small wave and a wink to the crowd and Derek turned too to eye his guests. He couldn’t help but smile, a little out of embarrassment because he still wasn’t used to being so openly romantic with Stiles in front of others, let alone everyone they knew. But he also smiled because he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Because he was just too damn happy. Because he was so happy that they needed to create a new word for how he was feeling because happy just wasn’t good enough. 

There were too many faces to register everyone there, some at the edge of the dance floor and others sitting at the various white-clothed tables scattered beneath the large pavilion. The whole thing had been set up in the backyard of the new and improved Hale house, well _their_ house now, his and Stiles’. There were strings of lights and bouquets of flowers everywhere. There was a long table with food and a bar with drinks. There was a little booth set up with a stereo and speakers and a hired DJ. There was a huge, four-tiered cake off to one side with two little plastic figurines on top. Lydia and Erica had done most of the planning. Stiles had helped. And Derek put his two cents in here and there. 

As Derek surveyed the crowd, he could make out Scott and Allison holding hands. A tiny glint of light flashed from the ring on the girl’s finger. Erica and Boyd were nearby. Erica was actually crying tears of joy, the big sap, and Boyd looked completely ridiculous in a tux but he smiled too. And Isaac was there, standing with a man Derek didn’t immediately recognize but he looked familiar and it seemed right that he was there as he gently caressed Isaac’s shoulder. 

And Stiles’ father was there too, beaming with pride. And Ms. McCall had one hand intertwined with his while the other clutched a tissue to her tear-stricken face. And he even spotted Melinda smiling at him from within the gathering of guests. 

Then, his eyes moved to Lydia and Jackson. As Lydia broke free from Jackson’s embrace to come running onto the dance floor, the sight in Derek’s peripheral vision began to get blurry. Lydia ran forward, a camera in her hands. She stopped a short distance away and the blurriness around her was getting worse. 

“Smile!” she said as she raised the camera to her face. 

And then everything was blurry except the black aperture of the camera in the center of his sight. 

The camera flashed a blinding white light. 

~ 

When his eyes jerked open, it took Derek a second to adjust to the blinding sunlight beaming through the branches of the oak tree. 

His mate was still asleep by his side, his face turned toward Derek and his warm breath brushing over Derek’s cheek with each exhale. 

He almost couldn’t believe that this was real. It almost felt like this should be a dream too, like he had woken from one perfect dream into another, like this was some form of real life _Inception_ , and this was just another wonderful dream that could end any second. 

But it wasn’t. 

He no longer had to be dreaming to picture warm, violet eyes and an unbreakable bond and an endless future with the one he loved. 

It was real now. 

Because Stiles _was_ his mate. 

_His mate._

What Derek didn’t know was that this would be the last of his crazy wonderful dreams/premonitions/whatever the heck they were, he still wasn’t really sure. After tonight, he’d still have regular dreams, like everyone does, but never again like this. Eventually he would figure it out, that they weren’t coming back, but by then it wouldn’t matter because he wouldn’t need them anymore. Because he would already have everything he needed. 

What Derek did know was that there would still be challenges ahead. There were still threats to be faced. Peter, of course. The hunters, both of the Fangher and the Argent variety. Gerard was probably still out there too. And rival packs. And who knows what other things that go bump in the night could be out there stalking through the California wilderness just waiting to bring trouble for him and his pack. 

But his pack was strong now. 

And he was stronger too. 

Because he wasn’t alone anymore. 

He’d never be alone again. 

So they would meet their challenges head-on without fear. 

The days of being afraid were finally behind them. 

Derek scooted closer to his sleeping mate, cautiously making sure not to wake him. He thought of his dream, of a wedding day for him and Stiles. It wasn’t exactly necessary. They were already mates. This was already forever. But as he thought of the happiness in his mate’s eyes at the end of their first dance together as a wedded couple, he couldn’t help but want a wedding day. Some day. If his dream _was_ in fact a premonition, then it looked like he still had some time before their vows would actually be exchanged. 

Plus, it’d make a nice photo album for their children to look at some day. 

Remembering Stiles’ words, Derek leaned over Stiles’ ear and whispered, 

“I love you too, Stiles, forever.” 

And after placing a gentle kiss on his mate’s forehead, he rested his own head and closed his eyes, drifting back to sleep. 

~ 

THE END. 

~ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 21 is a final note from me to you, my readers. 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed reading this fic as much as I've enjoyed writing it!


	21. Author's Note

A final message as I finish this fic:

If you have read all 20 chapters and all 120K+ words of my fic, then I say to you sincerely: THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! 

There’d be no point in me writing (and writing and editing and writing, I know I can be longwinded at times…) this fic if it weren’t for you, my readers. I love you all! You have no idea how happy it makes me that there are people who actually want to read what I’ve written, who get the same warm, fuzzy feels at the Sterek scenes I’ve created, and who would take time out of their life to read my fic in the midst of all the other great fics out there. So seriously, thank you so freaking much! 

This fic all started when I thought about how I could get Derek and Stiles together without creating an AU (except cutting out the Alpha pack), by just picking up where Season 2 left off and rolling with a new plotline that made them both realize how they belong together, because if you’re like me, then you KNOW that Derek and Stiles are perfect together just as they are. They just need a little push or two in the right direction… 

As I began writing and continued developing the plot, this fic changed so much from what I originally imagined, but I think that overall, it changed for the better. (And it got a lot longer, lol. I think when I posted chapter 1, I estimated this would be a 10 chapter fic so… yeah, it basically doubled in length.) I am so proud of this fic, as long and as complicated as it is, and I can’t believe it is finished! 

I know there are still loose strings. That was intentional for two reasons. First, the fic needed to end and trying to wrap everything in a nice little box with a bow on top was NOT going to happen without it being completely forced and unrealistic. Second, my focus for this entire fic has always been on Stiles/Derek and the development of their relationship and although there’s frequently been other “stuff” going on simultaneously, once they became mates and the main storyline was complete, it didn’t make sense to try and shift the focus on other things just so every conflict could be resolved. 

So if you’re sitting there wondering: 

-Isaac and Scott: How will they work things out? Will Isaac reveal his crush? 

-Allison’s return: How will it affect the pack? How will she and Scott resolve their issues? 

-Peter: Is justice ever served? 

-The hunters: Do they ever come back? 

The answer to all of them at this time is: Beats me! Okay, so I actually may have some ideas on how all these conflicts _could_ be resolved, but I also like just leaving the questions as they are, knowing that as time goes on, everything will work itself out because the pack is strong now. It’s self-sufficient with an Alpha and his mate ready to lead it. 

Maybe one day I will write a sequel to this fic. I’ve certainly left the possibility open, what with all the conflicts above still available. There can always be another bad guy, always another way in which Stiles and Derek and the pack can be tested. And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of a possibility or two for future fics in this little world I’ve created. But for now, I think this fic needs some time to stand alone, to be what it is, and I definitely need a little break before I sit down and try to hammer out a sequel. 

And so finally, I ask that if you’ve read this fic in its entirety, to please put a comment below with your thoughts now that it is done. What did you love? What did you hate? What are you thinking right now in this moment at the conclusion of this fic? Are you having feels? Burning questions? Ideas for what you’d like to see in a sequel? 

Because I want to know! I would love to hear from all of you! 

Again, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! 

-Matt 

ps. if you'd like, you're welcome to follow/chat/befriend me on tumblr: mattjolly.tumblr.com


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